


Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow

by Ylith



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 68,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1572749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylith/pseuds/Ylith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is a down on his luck teacher working as a stripper to pay the bills.  Eames was just released from prison on a last chance warning, and trying to live on the straight and narrow for the first time ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arthur

Arthur

The second the words “why don’t you take your clothes off so we can see what we’re working with” left the man’s mouth, Arthur wanted to do nothing other than go home, clutch his master’s degree, and cry. He thought he’d planned this well, sorted through the pros and cons and decided this was the smart call for now. This call meant he could still wait for his old job which he’d loved to be available again. He’d thought through every last detail but still hadn’t been prepared for the obvious request to strip in front of strangers.

His whole body went rigid, jaw clenched tight as he nodded and found the neckline of his sweater with mostly steady fingers. The two club owners sat casually in stuffed armchairs before him. The one with the bulbous nose and furry eyebrows flipped through his phone, brows furled and expression both impatient and sour. The other had leathery tanned skin and grey chest hair popping through the top of his partially unbuttoned shirt. He watched Arthur with lips pursed in pleased appreciation. 

Arthur carefully folded his sweater before begrudgingly dropping it to the floor, his stomach dropping with it. He hoped grimly there wasn’t anything on the stage that a good wash in hot water wouldn’t get out. He opened his button down in the same businesslike manner, keeping his eyes downcast as he offered the shirt the same treatment and let it fall atop his sweater. Arthur felt like a complete idiot for letting his nerves get the better of him. After all, if he could handle thirty five manic eleven year olds, he should be able to handle anything. No worse than wearing a swimsuit, right? Now if he could just calm the fuck down, that would be fantastic. 

“Very nice.”

The voice caught him off guard, Arthur’s eyes flashing up to see the the older man, Browning, smiling at him. He supposed that now was probably not the time to be self conscious, seeing as the point of this job was to take his clothes off for tips on a nightly basis. Arthur swallowed his pride and decided if he was really going to give this a shot, he should just let go take a compliment which was probably the tamest and most gentlemanly thing he’d hear from this point on. He offered Browning a tight lipped smile in return, his arms crossing over his naked chest. 

“Can you give us a little spin?” Browning asked, his partner’s nose finally coming up from his phone to watch him as Arthur gave a quick turn, arms folding atop his head and back arching so they could get a good look at his slim figure. Browning gave an approving hum, leaning against one armrest and tapping his mouth with a pen. “You’ve got a nice little body on you...what did you say you did again? For work, that is.”

Arthur swallowed hard, feeling his face heat with discomfort. “Teacher. I was a teacher.”

Browning laughed now, nudging the other man...what the hell was his name again?...in the arm. “Hot For Teacher in the flesh, huh Maurice?”

Maurice nodded curtly, eyeing Arthur up and down more critically than his partner had. Browning didn’t seem to care he was being ignored, which reassured Arthur a little. “And what inspired such a dramatic change in occupations, sweetie?”

Arthur could handle a job interview, he just wished he didn’t have to be fucking shirtless while doing so, especially while having to rehash the already difficult fate of his teaching career. “The school was hit hard with the budget cuts, and I was the most recent hire...so was one of the unlucky few who were laid off. No other school in the area is hiring, and I’ve reached the end of my savings...”

“And why stripping?” Browning asked, hands folding in his lap atop his garish but most likely expensive trousers. 

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, wishing to god he didn’t flush so damn easily. “A friend from college was a dancer for a while,” he said. “She was always talking about how good the money was, so I thought it would be worth a try.”

“It can be good,” Maurice said, sneering in distaste as he surveyed Arthur. “Very good for those who know what they’re doing. Not so good for self conscious little prudes.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed in anger at the comment, but Browning quickly spoke up, his tone placating and eyes fixed dead on Arthur. “He’s a bit nervous but I actually like his prissy attitude. We’ve got plenty of slutty femme twinks; I think the clientele will really dig a snooty little uptown boy.”

Maurice snorted, eyes going back to his damned phone. “They’ll want to fuck prissy out of him, more like.”

It became apparent that the floor was not going to drop out and swallow him whole at that moment, so Arthur just tried to keep his chin up and not let either man see how intimidated and uncomfortable he actually was. Browning laughed, too white teeth bared by a wolfish grin as he looked Arthur over again. .

“Did you wear a thong today as requested?” Maurice’s voice was cutting, like he already knew the answer.

Arthur’s hands dropped to the waistband of his jeans, finger brushing along the rim as he bit his lip, keeping his eyes on Maurice this time as he spoke. “I didn’t have one, but I wore the smallest briefs I own.”

Maurice just stared back at him, his face unreadable. He offered Arthur an indifferent nod that he should proceed, so Arthur unbuckled his jeans and carefully pushed them down, folding them and bending at the waist to place them atop his pile. Looking Maurice dead in the eye he reached back and hiked the bottoms of his briefs up, baring as much of his buttocks as he could. He then placed his hands on his hips and gave another slow spin before being directed to do so. Browning chuckled low in his throat in delight at both Arthur’s attitude and ass while Maurice’s lips pursed in careful consideration. 

“Oh yeah, the customers will be all over that cute bubble butt,” Browning said. “You’re an ‘in’ for me, kid.”

Maurice rolled his eyes and huffed, clearly familiar with and exasperated by Browning’s method of decision making. “The teacher might dance like an elephant seal, how about a little demonstration before you jump to conclusions, Peter. We have a reputation to uphold here, and I’m not putting some stick-in-the-mud fairy who can’t dance on stage just so you can get your dick wet.” 

Arthur tried not to shudder at Browning’s responding chuckle of acquiescence. He couldn’t help the image of the man putting a hand on his thigh and giving him the old ‘you give me a little something, and I give you a little something’ like out of a sleazy movie. Arthur supposed he should take it as practice for potential nights to come. He didn’t really expect to have the pick of the litter coming in to toss singles at him on stage. 

“Don’t you pay him any mind, sweetheart,” Browning said, folding his arms. “My esteemed colleague here doesn’t appreciate a fine form like I do...well, at least one that doesn’t have tits on it. You up to taking those undies off at all today?”

Arthur’s face was hot but he firmly shook his head. Maurice shouted out “Music, Yusuf!” without taking his eyes off of Arthur. “Just show us how you move for two minutes so we can see what we’re working with,” he huffed, not sounding terribly optimistic. 

Thankfully it was a song Arthur knew, a remixed pop song he’d danced to in the club plenty of times before. He threw his dignity to the wind and his ass in the air. He kept flashing looks at Maurice, hoping every sensual movement read as “fuck you” to the older man for calling him a prude. He usually needed a couple vodka cranberries in him to dance like this, but anger apparently worked just as well to push down his embarrassment. If there was one thing Arthur had always loathed, it was to be underestimated. When the music finally stopped, he turned back to the two owners, his breathing heavy through his nose. 

Browning was sitting back in his chair, arms crossed and head swinging to look over at Maurice. The thin hawkish man was nodding, his lips pursed. “So what do you think, teacher, you still want the job?”

Arthur nodded. ‘Want’ wasn’t exactly the appropriate word, but no need to insult his potential employer’s establishment to his face. He wrapped his arms about himself and waited while the two spoke quietly. He wanted to put his damn clothes back on, but didn’t know if they’d want him to dance again. Soon enough they were standing, Maurice pulling his phone back out and walking away with a quick nod to Browning. The older man gave Arthur a small wave, indicating for him to get down from the stage. 

Arthur gathered his clothes in his arms and hopped down, sitting awkwardly on the stage edge when Browning patted there. The big man stepped up close, his light cologne in good taste, a pleasant surprise. He rested a hand on the stage just beside Arthur’s hip, his chunky gold watch clicking against the wood. 

“Welcome to Club Fisch, sweetheart,” Browning said, lips curling into a lecherous grin. “You can start tomorrow at eight, but feel free to come earlier and watch a few of the other boys before you go on. We’ve got a rotation for the stage, check the dressing room for the rotation sheet and make sure you’re ready at your time. Don’t worry, I’ll show you tomorrow when you come. When you’re not on stage, you’re mingling, but don’t butt in on anyone else or these queens will make your life hell.” 

Arthur tried his best to keep up, cataloging everything as best he could but ever present of Browning’s hand just beside his still bare thigh. He wanted to get dressed but the man was too close to him, so he just nodded and listened. 

“No mingling in front of the stage, those tips belong to the guy on stage. Anyone at the tables is fair game. Table dances are pretty tame; you don’t touch them, you just dance. No lap dances on the floor, ever. We have a three strikes program on that, if guys think they can get free lap dances out here they won’t for them. If they want one they need to go to the VIP room in the back. You can sit on their lap, you can dance, but nothing too intimate. They pay fifty per song, up front. If they change their mind, they can add more songs, but you don’t dance until you have the money. They still want more, they pay for the champagne room, which is 300 per half hour.”

“Are they allowed to touch me in there?” Arthur couldn’t help but ask, sick at the idea. 

“We have a no touching policy,” Browning said, eyes coasting down Arthur’s lean form as his tongue slid wetly over his front teeth. “They can’t stick their fingers in you or grab your cock or leave any kinds of marks on you like scratches, hickeys, or bite marks. If they’re giving you some money and cop a little feel...that’s one thing...but you don’t have to let them. We also have to remind you prostitution is illegal, so no blowjobs or fucking in the Champagne room.” Browning smiled at him then, taking in his clenched jaw and flushed face. He raised a broad hand to rest on Arthur’s naked shoulder. “But do keep in mind that the sweeter you are, the sweeter the tip will be...and as we get a cut of your tips, it’s in our best interest to not bother you with questions.”

Arthur’s ears burned and he was sure his face was in a similar state. Browning smiled at him, his thumb rubbing over the front of Arthur’s shoulder before he finally stepped back and indicated to the young man’s folded clothes. “You can get dressed now, honey.” he said, sitting with a groan on one of the plush chairs before the stage. “You got any questions for me?”

Arthur shook his head, pulling his shirt up his arms before tugging on his jeans. He felt more in control again when he was dressed, something he’d really have to work on if he was going to take a real shot at this whole thing. 

“See you tomorrow, teacher,” Browning said with a wink.

TBC

My buddy slashydrunkard helped make this graphic for the fic, it's NSFW so careful on the scrolling! ;) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as a Big Bang attempt but then RL shit hit the fan, so I never finished it. A bunch of it is done (about 37,000 words) so I'm just editing it and will post as I go. The chapters will alternate from Arthur to Eames' point of view, so the next chapter will introduce Eames.


	2. Eames

Eames really needed his own fucking place. 3:00am and his sister’s bundle of joy was screaming at the top of his lungs yet again. Even from his shabby little room in the basement, Eames could hear it wailing for hours on end. He didn’t dare complain though, his sister continued to make her displeasure at his presence quite clear and Eames didn’t want to rattle the delicate balance that was her tolerance. He did his best to be an invisible houseguest, making no noise and doing his best to avoid contact with Talullah when they were home at the same time. 

Talulah had lost all patience with him by his first arrest, which by now seemed a lifetime ago. He wouldn’t be surprised if she allowed him to stay only because she assumed his release would only last for so long; the last time he hadn’t even lasted a month before he was back in lockup. Fucking Nash and his guaranteed jobs.

Nothing had made Eames feel smaller than his little sister picking him up from prison and laying out her plentiful house rules, the strict adherence to which his continued presence in her home was conditional. She addressed him with such obvious distaste that Eames was shocked she had ever even consented in the first place. He hadn’t lied though when he told her he had nowhere else to go, and was therefore determined to make it as easy as possible on both of them. 

His desire to placate Talulah didn’t make the damn baby’s screaming less irritating, though. Eames sighed, reaching over to the crate he used as a nightstand to grab his mobile phone. He couldn’t afford another plan quite yet, but he could play games on it. Everything Eames had in the world could all currently fit into a tattered rucksack, and were mostly clothes. Whatever possessions the cops hadn’t seized either his sister had sold or he himself had sold for court fees. He was just grateful that his phone had somehow made it through the whole mess, charger and all. He’d have probably gone stark raving mad without it. His sister had given him a pay as you go phone upon his release, the fifty dollars loaded on it very clearly all he was going to get, so he saved it for calling on jobs. It was for the best, probably, as Eames didn’t have anyone else he could call anymore. All of his buddies, even the ones who hadn’t sold him out, he was just going to have to forget if he had a prayer of actually going legit this time. 

Eames scratched his cheek as he lined up four emeralds, the stubble crackling under his blunt nails. He knew he should do something productive like skim through the classifieds in the papers he’d collected, or go through the Yellow Pages and make another list of businesses to go and apply at, but he knew Tallulah didn’t work the next day and would be coming down to check on him, or “do laundry” as she called it, every twenty minutes, and he wanted to be able to look busy. The jobsearch could wait until then. Eames forced himself to swallow down the bitter thought that it would be just as fruitless as the previous one. 

His release counselor had said it would be hard to find a stable job, and he hadn’t been kidding. Felony convictions for larceny, forgery, and weapons possession didn’t exactly open doors. It made matters worse that Eames never really had much legal employment before he started his long and complicated relationship with law enforcement. A stint in a gas station during high school had been about it, so Eames knew his best chance at this point was a cash job where he built more of a reference than a bank account. 

Eames lay back on the lumpy futon, punching his pillow into a more comfortable position. He just wanted to get out of the house, to get a damn drink, a fucking blowjob. He sighed aloud at that, it was just torture to even begin to think about getting laid for the first time since his most recent two year stint in prison. This had been a dry term as he’d only had two cellies, neither of them the type to fool around. The best he’d gotten had been a quick handjob in the showers which had been less than stellar as the guy was, to put it gently, not his type. 

There was a gay club called Fisch which he’d found when going through the ads at the back of the local paper. If the logo of a twink silhouette arching against a poll was anything to go by, the place was a stripclub; but Eames knew places like that always needed heavies for the front door or to keep the customers in line. The thought of working at a known gay business made him nervous, as none of his former friends or business partners knew of his sexual predilections; but as he was trying to distance himself from his previous life, this was likely a surefire way to not run into any of them. Anyone else he saw on the downlow wouldn’t dare rat him out and risk implicating themselves, so in a sense it was pretty safe. 

It was amazing what a two year old case of blueballs did for his level of confidence, and Eames felt a little perk at the thought he might be able to kill two birds with one stone at the club. His father’s truck had about a half a tank left in it, which Eames was saving for his next round of job inquiries. He’d save the club for last, so if by some miracle he found a job somewhere else, he could end there for a little celebration. 

Eames turned his phone off, the little flicker of hope and self satisfaction enabling him to finally drown out his screaming nephew enough for him to get some sleep. 

\- - - - - - 

Club Fisch turned out to be more than the dive he’d expected it to be. The entry was only the first level, the VIP and back rooms were accessible by a staircase monitored by one of the several employed heavies. He’d definitely have to come back when he had cash to burn. The shaved and tweezed twink gyrating on stage wasn’t really his type, but the place was packed, and it felt good to be around like minded individuals for the first time in over two years. 

He’d asked to see the owner and was directed to an office in the back, next to the dressing rooms. The owner was a tall older man, his thick frame indicative of a formerly well muscled body which had softened with age. He was overly tanned, looking a little ridiculous in the sun deprived middle of winter, and he wasted no time in giving Eames a thorough once over which bordered on sexual. 

“Mmm..A face like that, if you were about half your size and clean-shaven I’d have you on the pole right now,” the man had said, grin lecherous as he raised his cigar to his mouth. 

“The one out there, or yours?” Eames asked, hoping the man would appreciate his cheek. He held his hand out, offering his name.

“Peter Browning,” was the reply, accompanied by a firm handshake.

Browning examined Eames carefully, eyes meeting Eames’ with a confident bravado. “Bet you’re real pretty when you’re thin. I never was one for beefheads, but I can’t really turn down a body like that to help keep the peace around here.”

Eames perked a bit. “You have something for me, then? I’m a really quick study, could help out with the bar...or wherever you needed me. I just really need a job, and my options aren’t as open as I’d like them to be.”

Browning snorted. “When did you get out?” he asked. 

“A few months ago,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “For the last time though, last chance and all.”

“Woes of a misspent youth,” Browning commiserated, offering Eames a nod of understanding. He sat down on the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest as he studied Eames, apparently pondering over the situation. “I really could use someone at the door to check ID’s, but you have to be able to spot the fake ones.”

Eames couldn’t help the cocky grin, and he looked away to compose himself. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “I uh...went down for forgery. Know all the tricks.”

Browning considered this, looking increasingly pleased. He stood, walking over to a file cabinet across the room. Eames watched as the older man pulled out a manilla folder, licking his thumb before leafing through it and extracting a form. “Ok guy, here’s how this will go. You start on trial basis, fifty bucks a night to work the door and check ID’s. If that goes well for two weeks I’ll put you on payroll, but understand this will be a one and done type situation. You fuck up once, you’re gone. My generosity only exceeds so far.”

Eames nodded emphatically, hands deep in his pockets. His heart fluttered in excitement as he watched Browning jot a few notes onto an employment form. He stepped forward when Browning finally extended the pen to him. 

“This is a basic contract for the next two weeks, after this little trial basis we’ll do the actual W-2.”

Eames happily signed his name, grin all crooked teeth and rakish charm as he handed it to Browning. “When do I start?”

Browning settled back down at his desk, offering Eames the opposite chair with a wave of his hand. He pulled out a cigar and lit it, not offering one to Eames. “Come on in tomorrow,” he said. “You can shadow Josh for a bit, get the hang of things. Now I have some rules for my security guys, so listen closely.” Browning leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “You don’t talk to the dancers. The boys know who to go to if they need help, so you stay out of their business. You don’t flirt with my boys while you’re on the clock...you’re on my time then and I want you doing your job. On your own time you pay, so don’t go looking for freebies. You don’t leave your post ever. You gotta take a piss, wait until someone is there to cover for you.”

Eames nodded.

“Oh, and if your shift starts at 8, it means your ass is at the door at 8, it isn’t walking through it. I don’t care how early you get here, but you’re going to be sober and start your shift on the dot.”

Eames pursed his thick lips. “You’re the boss,” he acquiesced with a twitch of his brow.

Browning chuckled, gingerly leaning his cigar against an ashtray. “Don’t you forget it.”

Another handshake and Eames left the office, practically ready to burst from delight. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had the chance to turn things around. He’d found the chance he needed to get back on his feet, get the hell out of Tallulah’s basement, get himself a real life. Of course it would take time, but it was a damn start. 

Eames wanted to stay for a drink, the thrill of being around his people almost outweighing his incredibly tight budget, but a moment of uncharacteristic maturity had him turning on his heels and swiftly moving back towards the exit. Just as he reached for the door, someone on the other side opened it, and Eames was hit by a cold gust of wind as a skinny slip of a guy almost ran into him. The guy’s nose and cheeks were pink from the chilly night air, a red scarf wrapped about his neck. He glanced up at Eames, startled for a split second by the large man’s close proximity, before forcing a tight lipped smile to Eames as he sidestepped him. Eames turned his head to watch the guy walk purposefully through the crowd of people. He was definitely cute, a bit skinny for Eames’ taste but with an ass that didn’t quit. With any luck he was a regular, and when Eames finally did have a disposable income once again he might be able to buy the guy a drink or two. 

Fuckin’ blueballs.


	3. Arthur

Arthur

Arthur had been pretty much completely convinced that he’d vomit at some point during his first night on the job. Much to his delight, and likely that of everyone else as well, he hadn’t thrown up on stage, managing to keep his composure even if his...performance...suffered a bit from his short circuited nerves. Browning had been right though, once those thirsty queens heard the opening of “Hot for Teacher” and saw him in his sweater vest and fake glasses they hardly cared what he danced like. The tips were nothing to scoff at either.

Really though, it hadn’t been the main dance he’d been dreading so much as the “mingling” afterwards. On stage the lights were bright and it was rather easy to close his eyes and just pretend he was dancing in his bedroom in his underwear. He was in his own little world, able to block out the sea of men around him. Mingling was different, though. He felt awkward as he surveyed the room, trying to remember the little ‘pick up lines’ Browning had recommended. For the most part, Arthur just forced a smile and tried to push down his nerves as he made eye contact. His stomach curdled at some of the catcalls he received, reminding himself it was all part of the territory, that he’d heard more of the same or even worse on nights out with friends. He found himself repeating Browning’s rules about touching and what wasn’t allowed on the floor in his head. 

Arthur got through his first table dance without hitting anyone, the group of friends who called him over drunk but thankfully amiable. The way they laughed and danced along to encourage him reminded Arthur of his friends on a night out, and it helped him finally begin to loosen up. He got playful, or at least as playful as Arthur could get sober even at his most comfortable. He even pulled one of the guys up with him, the guy obviously nervous but delighted by Arthur’s attention and urged on by his friends’ cheers whoops. By the end of it, Arthur was actually smiling with them, the dimples he’d always hated earning him affectionate accolades and a few extra dollars. 

Halfway through the night, Browning came up from behind him and clasped him on the shoulder. “Doing good, teacher,” he offered with a wink, his hand sliding down to the small of Arthur’s back before leaning in closer to Arthur’s ear. “I think I’ll keep you.” Arthur felt his cheeks heat, grateful for the dim lights. “Thanks” he replied, doing his best not to twist away from the older man’s hand. 

Browning pointed over to the bar, pulling Arthur along with him with the hand on his back. “Why don’t you come over to the bar, I’ll introduce you to a few regulars.” He guided Arthur through the crowd, wrapping an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. He introduced him to a few men sitting there, making sure they all knew that Arthur was new to the club. Most looked at him with interest, spoke to him pleasantly and even flirted, but when Arthur asked if they wanted a lap dance they were only too quick to decline the invitation. One tried to get Arthur to sit on his lap, but Arthur was only too happy to remind him of the rules. 

After a little while, Browning led him away again, his hand once again on Arthur’s back. “You’ve got the rules down, but you’re going to have to be sweeter if you want them to pay for dances,” he said. “That stern face will scare lesser men off, not empty their wallets.” He winked at Arthur. 

“I thought they’d want to fuck the snooty out of me,” Arthur bit back, remembering the remark Maurice had made during his interview. He was frustrated from the rejection, from how Browning looked at him like he could see through him, already knew everything Arthur had encountered and would encounter in nights to come.

Browning chuckled, a hand raising to the side of Arthur’s face so he could stroke a thumb across his ear. “I’d certainly love to,” he said. “But it’s the right balance of sweet and sour. Make them want you on the stage, and then be approachable on the floor.”

Arthur nodded, cataloguing the advice and ignoring the offhanded remark, determined to not give Browning any indication that his desires were reciprocated. When he’d first arrived in the dressing room right before his shift, one of the other dancers named Matt had mentioned Arthur was exactly their boss’ type. He’d laughed at Arthur’s face of displeasure at the idea, and practically tittered with glee when Arthur swore nothing would ever happen between them. “That’s what we all say, honey,” he’d said, rubbing baby oil into his waxed chest. “But sooner or later, everyone wants a little piece of Big Daddy.” 

It wasn’t the last time he’d heard a similar story. He’d overheard a few conversations about Browning sleeping with dancers, and if the death glares Noel were throwing were any indication, he could feel his position of current pet in precarious position. Arthur couldn’t be bothered though. He knew this job was temporary, and would treat it as such. He didn’t need friends, or the sense of family that some of these men apparently felt with each other; he just needed the money. 

\- - - - - - 

Arthur’s first trip to the VIP area was painfully awkward. 

An asian man in a suit which probably cost more than Arthur’s rent for three months locked eyes with him as he passed. Arthur braced himself, asking him if he wanted a table dance. The man said no, but stopped him with a raised finger when Arthur turned to leave. “Not a table dance,” the man said. “Something more intimate.” Arthur was momentarily caught off guard by the acceptance, but didn’t have the luxury of a moment to collect himself. He forced himself to smile as sweetly as was he was personally capable and nodded to the staircase. “Right this way.”

The man followed close behind him, looking down in distaste when the bouncer at the staircase stopped him with a hand to his chest. Arthur blanched when the man offered him a quirked brow of bewilderment when the bouncer asked him for his deposit. 

“Sorry,” Arthur said, flashing a flustered smile. “The VIP rooms are fifty a song or one fifty for twenty minutes, champagne room is three hundred for a half hour...I’m really sorry, I should have told you before...it’s actually my first time doing this.”

The businessman’s interest was obviously piqued by Arthur’s confession, reaching languidly into his pocket to withdraw a wallet. “And what does a song get me?”

Arthur’s eyes flashed to the bouncer, who wasn’t even bothering to hide his amusement at his fumblings. Asshole. “A song gets you some attention, but not as much as I’d like to give you.”

Jesus, he couldn’t believe those words had left his mouth, and he would have felt crippled with shame if he didn’t see how desire darkened the other man’s gaze. Instead he stood straighter, canting his hips forward in blatant invitation. The man’s eyes narrowed in acceptance of Arthur’s nonverbal challenge. 

“Well,” the businessman said, flipping his wallet open to withdraw several crisp bills with casual ease. “I’d be more than happy to oblige.” 

Arthur accepted the money with a triumphant smile, the trembling in his fingers barely noticeable. He handed the money to the bouncer, lips pursing cockily. “Put this on Arthur,” he said, satisfaction mounting at the wink the bouncer gave him as he checked off Arthur’s name and noted the time on his clipboard. Arthur took advantage of this surge of confidence, taking the businessman’s hand and leading him up the stairs. 

“So I am truly your first private dance?” the man asked. “Or is this something men want to hear?”

Arthur glanced back over his shoulder, letting his dimples pop as he knew how boyish it made him look. “My first ever. I’ve only been working here a few nights...so far just had stage and table dances. Is that ok?” Listening to himself simper was sort of an out of body experience, and Arthur wanted nothing more than to roll his eyes at himself. It must have been the man’s thus far impenetrable composure that allowed him to ham it up in such a way.

“I should hope so,” the man said, a wry smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “Both for my sake and yours...I’m a generous man when properly motivated.”

“I can be too,” Arthur responded, giving his ass a little shake as he reached the top of the stairs. He’d only been to the champagne rooms once, when Browning had given him the walkthrough before his first shift. Thankfully, he’d always been a quick study, and managed to find an open room without any embarrassing mix-ups. He wrote his name on the whiteboard out front, holding the door open for the man to enter. 

The Champagne rooms were actually quite cozy, small but lush with comfortable couches and chairs. There was a simple wet bar in the corner where champagne was kept chilled, and the lighting was adjustable by color. Being in the room really cemented the reality of the situation for Arthur. He was about to take off his clothes for this man, get in his lap, rub against him. With table dances, he never touched the patrons, not even so much as to caress their arm. There was a certain distance to maintain, a certain level of protocol. Here though, it was no holds barred short of an actual sex act. He’d seen patrons with erections before; what if this man got hard while Arthur was on top of him? What if he grabbed Arthur...what if he came? The little sense of power and control Arthur had felt before was gone now, so as soon as he had the businessman settled on the couch he gave himself a little space by moving over to the light switches. 

“How about a little mood lighting?” he asked, fingering the switch until the soft light turned a rosy pink. “Anything you fancy?”

The man reached to loosen his tie and undo his top button, resting back easily against the couch. “I’ve always been quite partial to blue,” he offered. 

Arthur smiled at him, turning the dial until the room was awash in a blue glow. “Champagne?” he offered, crossing to the wet bar. 

“Will you join me?” the man asked, quirking a brow. 

Browning’s voice immediately piped up in his mind, the rules about drinking in the Champagne rooms running rampant. If they ask you to have one drink you can, but only if you open the bottle yourself and pour it. No drinking after the glass has been on the table, absolutely no drinking if the glass is out of his line of sight for any period of time no matter how insignificant. The words “drug” and “rape” had been quite sobering when he’d first been confronted with them, especially considering the casual and “business as usual” manner they’d been brought up. 

Arthur withdrew two glasses, pouring significantly less into the one intended for himself. “If you’d like.” He knew his tone was mirthless, and tried to smile playfully as he handed the man his flute. “What’s your name then?” he asked, hand on hip as he raised his own glass. 

The man eyed Arthur up and down, taking in his slim frame already quite bared in his micro shorts and tank top. “Saito,” he said, guarded. Arthur wasn’t sure if the man wasn’t accustomed to coming to places like this, or was just used to nicer, but he looked less at ease now. Arthur stood directly in front of him before lowering himself onto the other man’s lap, his arms draped over Saito’s shoulders to grip the back of the couch. Saito’s nostrils flared as he leaned back to give Arthur more room to perch atop him, the hand not holding his champagne resting limp on the couch. 

“I’m Arthur,” he said, tilting his glass back to drain the small amount in one go. He hummed in appreciation as it bubbled down his throat, warming his belly quite pleasantly. He thought of his his ex-boyfriend loved to have him in his lap, loved to have Arthur’s fingers curl into his hair when they were fucking, so after setting his glass down he ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of the man’s neck. “Now that we’re alone...what would you like?”

Saito took a sip from his flute, eyes languidly gliding down Arthur’s body. “A little music, maybe,” he said. “I want to see how you dance.” 

Arthur nodded, pushing himself up off of the man’s lap. The rooms were each equipped with speakers and an ipod. Most dancers had their own playlists, and the rest of the music was sorted by artist and genre. Everything about Saito oozed money, and none of the music really jumped out as “classy.” However, seeing as Arthur was about to ride the man’s leg like a dog in heat, he supposed it was alright to forgo any semblance of decorum and go with something he knew. Arthur opted for Blackstreet, sure he’d be able to turn something out to No Diggity. The second the familiar opening beat poured over the loudspeaker, he felt himself relax. 

Saito sat back, the arm not holding his glass settled over the back of the couch, eyes fixed on Arthur as he crossed his arms and slowly drew his shirt up to expose his taut belly. Arthur then turned around, giving himself a reprieve from the man’s intense gaze and Saito a view of his ass as he pulled his shirt all the way off, letting it drop to the floor without much ceremony. His hips swayed from side to side, swiveling as he dipped his thumbs into the elastic waist of his hotpants. He drew the material away from his hips, letting it gape and dip rhythmically, exposing the thin strings of his g-string. Letting go, Arthur dropped down low, his ass popping back and up before he stood again and finally turned back to Saito. 

Much as he liked to keep his distance, Arthur knew he had to get closer. He moved back to Saito, pausing before him as he tried to consider logistics. He soon realized he’d stalled when he saw Saito looking up at him with a quirked brow. He was infinitely grateful for the dim lighting in the room when he felt his face go hot. “Sorry,” he offered awkwardly, turning around again before sitting in the other man’s lap once more, this time with his back to Saito’s chest. He bent at the waist between Saito’s knees, giving the man an eyeful of his ass before stretching back up again. He leaned back against Saito’s chest, rubbing his rump back over the man’s thighs before ghosting it over his lap, unable to stop himself from jerking away involuntarily at the hardness which brushed against him. 

Arthur worried his lip, hands bracing on Saito’s thighs as he glanced back over his shoulder at him. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “So sorry about that.”

“Have I upset you?” Saito asked, his voice low; husky. 

Yes, yes he fucking had. Arthur swallowed hard, forcing himself to settle completely on Saito’s lap, the man’s rigid cock pressing up against the cleft of his ass. Contrary to what his outward appearance might normally suggest, Arthur wasn’t a prude, but intimacy outside of someone he was romantically involved of his own volition with was something completely new. While Saito was by no means unattractive, Arthur couldn’t help the nausea slowly building. “Of course not,” he said, arching his back to rest against Saito. 

The man’s breath shuddered delicately in his ear as he rocked against him to the music, his movements nowhere near as sultry as he wanted them. The more aroused Saito become, the less graceful Arthur seemed to be. Saito’s hands were resting at his sides on the couch, but Arthur could feel the tightness of the body beneath him and knew he wanted to touch him. He melted back against Saito, taking the man’s hands in his own and drawing them up to his naked chest. Saito’s palms were hot against his skin, dry enough that they slid easily down his abdomen and back up his sides. His head tilted back until Saito’s nose was almost nudging against his ear, drawing the man’s hands down until their tangled fingers reached the band of Arthur’s shorts. 

“Do you want more?” Arthur murmured, the seductive husk he was going for coming out more shaky than he liked. 

This time Saito did nose against his ear, nodding. “All of it,” he said, pushing against both the band of Arthur’s shorts and that of his g-string. 

Arthur stiffened, his hands covering Saito’s to still them. He grimaced, leaning forward as he shot out of Saito’s lap. The man looked up at him with just the barest hint of frustration. Arthur brushed his fingers back through his hair, his heart racing as he tried to decide on a course of action and pointedly did not look down at the man’s crotch. 

“Is there a problem?” Saito asked, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side. 

“I-” Arthur’s fingers hovered over the waistband of his shorts. “I’ve never gone completely naked...and it’s not happening tonight either...”

Saito sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “That is most disappointing...I was under the assumption that was a service provided with such an elevated price.”

Arthur stiffened as he struggled to think of some response which would appease the man, but was quickly realizing the futility of that. The song changed, the beat hard and throbbing. He took a careful step forward, settling back into Saito’s lap so his knees rested on either side of him on the couch. He slid his hands up Saito’s chest, rubbing over his shoulders and around to the back of his neck. “Take a chance” he challenged, his lips pouty and eyes hooded. “Leave a little mystery.” His hips rolled forwards as he spoke, his mouth hovering scant inches from Saito’s. 

Saito’s gaze was fixed on his mouth, still skeptical but he let Arthur direct his hands again easily enough. He left them on the backs of Arthur’s thighs when Arthur let go of him, fingers digging into the taut flesh. Arthur once again put his arms about Saito’s neck, his back arching as his hips swiveled and rolled he he rubbed himself against the man, erection and all. He carefully moved off the man’s lap and turned, popping his ass out in request that Saito help him. The man did, drawing only the shorts down this time, much to Arthur’s relief. 

Saito’s fingers brushed over the bared round cheek of Arthur’s ass, his thumb nudging the slim band of fabric nestled between his buttocks. “Very nice.”

Arthur heated, forcing himself not to jerk away from the light touch. He remembered Browning’s words, reminding him that being lenient meant more money, though he did not care for the implied evolution. He used to joke with his best friend Ariadne about sucking dick for an A while in university, but the idea now just sank leaden to his stomach. 

He was finally getting used to the feel of wearing only the g-string, riding the wave of confidence when he realized Saito wasn’t going to make him strip down completely. He put his head down and pulled out all the stops, brushing his palms over Saito’s thighs and sinking down to the ground before gliding himself up the man’s body. He tried to swallow down his distaste when the man touched him, allowing him more than was comfortable as realistically, he was not asking for much. A small touch or caress here and there, all innocent but still in the end unwanted. 

Several glasses of champagne and 90’s hip hop hits later, there was a hard knock at the door, signaling the end of their session. Arthur forced his eyes to go doe wide, slipping down to his knees so that he looked up at Saito through his lashes. “Time’s up,” he said, his voice husky. “Think I could convince you to stay with me a little longer?”

Saito looked down at him, a guileless smile tugging at his mouth as he reached to stroke his fingers down Arthur’s cheek. His thumb caressed across Arthur’s mouth, dragging over his lips. “No...thank you, but I think I’ll take my leave.”

Arthur flushed, face falling. “I’m so sorry if I offen-”

Saito clucked his tongue with a shake of his head. “Another time, perhaps?” With that he reached into his pocket to withdraw his wallet. “I’d only want more than you would give, and I’m afraid I’m too old for such games.”

Saito took Arthur’s hand and pressed several bills into his palm, patting it before standing and making himself look somewhat respectable. Arthur almost expected the man to ruffle his fucking hair before taking his leave. He glanced down at the money in his still closed hand, the cold chill of shame creeping up his neck as he took in the generous amount. Pity...that’s what it was. 

He wanted a shower and a bottle of vodka, but that second he’d settle with getting dressed again. He thought he’d drawn an unshakeable line for himself in how far he would go, how much of himself he’d be willing to give. It made him all the more shocked to realize he was considering how much further he might be willing to take things. For the first time, Arthur really questioned if he’d made a mistake in accepting this job.


	4. Eames

Eames

Eames had been nervous as hell before his first shift, but ended up just parked on a stool in the front Fisch. He didn’t even take the door fee, just checked the ID’s to make sure that they weren’t fake. It was so low key and simple that Eames found himself grinning to himself all night, knowing he looked a fool but hardly caring. He was going to get paid to sit on his ass and check ID’s, how kush could this gig get? 

When he’d first arrived, he’d met the other owner, a grim faced man named Maurice. He’d wasted no time mentioning that Browning had told him Eames was an ex-con, and asked what his crimes were. Maurice had actually barked out a laugh when Eames said he’d been sent down for forgery, explaining how their last door man had earned them a few thousand dollars in fines by missing fakes or failing to card underage patrons. Maurice was quite unnerving when he wanted to be though, and he made it quite clear that he didn’t trust Eames one bit and would be watching for any errors. 

He was almost grateful to be away from everything else inside the club, as it meant he was away from any of the temptations which had caused him trepidation about taking the job in the first place. No distractions of cute guys, no drugs, no drunks. He got hit on plenty of times, but that he could certainly handle. After years of repression and hiding his sexuality it was rather refreshing to be told he was sexy by another man, even if the guy saying it wasn’t his type in the slightest. 

Fifty bucks a night wasn’t much money considering the long hours he pulled, but it was cash and it was immediately available. It also meant he got out of the fucking basement for a while and that his sister had calmed down on the nagging. Tallulah hadn’t asked where he was working or about the type of job, she’d only given an exasperated sigh to accompany a withering “It’s legal, right?” He’d assured her it was, and for the moment she was placated. Eames didn’t know if his sister knew he was gay, but certainly didn’t feel this was the best time to test those waters. 

Not even the cold bothered him while he manned his post. He’d bought himself a warm jacket with money he himself had earned; earned, not borrowed. In his former life where he’d simply taken what he wanted, Eames never would have imagined the pride he could feel from the simple act of purchasing a coat. After living out of his meager rucksack for months though, anything new he could call his own was worth its weight in gold. 

Eames almost wished his dad was still around to see him on the right track. Of course, then the old man might finally have found out he was gay, which in all reality would not have gone smoothly. He’d been in prison when his father passed, and had been both surprised and ashamed at the relief the news brought him. He loved his father in his own way, though the old bastard had given him plenty of reason not to, but they had never been close. He knew that as an incarcerated fuck up, he was still his father’s son; a title which likely would not have remained in the event Eames’ sexuality was discovered. He could hear his father’s voice clear as day, “Better a thug than a faggot.” 

The one thing the job lacked was proper interaction with others. As Eames spent his time on a stool outside he only ever really talked to Browning when he was getting his schedule or shared a word or two about the club. The most he got out of Maurice was a grunt of acknowledgment, and as the dancers knew he wasn’t there to spend money they often ignored him completely. 

It was a Saturday night, one of the few nights Eames’ was relieved from his shift early. The other door attendant was Brendan, a straight guy with a wife and kids who happened to be Browning’s nephew. Despite the fact they weren’t particularly close, Browning had offered him the job when he found out his nephew was hard up for extra cash. Brendan had told Eames that his wife had a complete conniption until she found out it was a gay bar. Eames was one of the only guys at the club Brendan felt comfortable around, but apparently not comfortable enough to do more than shoot the breeze and comment on the weather with. 

As it happened, Brendan was late. He was just about to check the clock on his cell phone again when he saw the other man walking in from the car park, nose buried in his cell phone. He didn’t say hello when he came to stand before Eames, fingers flying as he typed something on his phone. Eames’ brows crept up, unsure if he should just go in and clock out or wait for some form of acknowledgment from Brendan first. 

Brendan finally glanced up. “Sorry man,” he said. “My kid’s got fucking whooping cough.” His phone pinged and he read what was likely another text message. 

“Sorry, mate,” Eames replied. “I can stay...if you want to go home, you know?”

Brendan shook his head, typing again. “Thanks, but I haven’t met my deductible yet for my health insurance; you wouldn’t believe how much this doctor’s visit is costing us.”

Eames stood, pulling his collar tighter around his neck against the cold as he vacated the stool for the other man. “Want me to check in for you when I clock out?”

Brendan nodded, tossing a “thanks” over his shoulder before tapping out yet another text. Eames simply turned on his heel and walked into the club. It wasn’t a terribly busy for a Saturday, likely due to the cold. Eames spotted Browning from across the room, the older man sitting with his back to the bar, staring out towards the meager crowd by the stage. He didn’t bother looking over when Eames sidled up next to him, merely nudged him in the ribs and inclined his head to one of the dancers, a slip of a brunette whose dimples didn’t completely warm his chilly demeanor. 

“How about a piece of that, huh?” Browning asked, his lips pursing in appreciation when the dancer bent forward to speak with a client. 

Eames squinted in the kid’s direction, and realized it was Arthur, or “The Ice Queen” as the other guys referred to him. He’d seen the Arthur a few times, but any appearance of invitation he wore while working melted away the second he was off the clock. A shame too, the guy seemed like a fellow loner in the club and Eames would have loved to ask him out. 

“Mmmmmm….” Browning hummed to himself, not caring that Eames hadn’t replied. “These boys will be the death of me,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t touch; it just ends up messy, but it’s boys like that who make me keep falling for it.”

Eames scratched below his ear, trying to imagine Arthur ever going for Browning and finding the idea hard to believe. “I don’t know about that one,” he said. “He seems to keep to himself.”

Browning chuckled, the sound throaty and self assured. “That’s the thing with all these boys,” he drawled, casting Eames a confident wink. “They act above it all, but in the end they all want daddy.”

Eames forced down the grimace he wished to make in reply, instead merely nodding halfheartedly in case his boss suddenly took interest in his opinion. The man seemed more than happy to keep ogling Arthur though before finally sauntering back behind the bar to sort Eames’ nightly cut from the cash register. 

\- - - - - - 

 

The next Saturday was packed, Eames barely able to navigate through the throngs of bodies. He was just on his way to the office to clock out when Maurice was beside him, boney yet surprisingly strong fingers gripping him by the shoulder. “Bar’s swamped tonight,” he said, voice hurried in the manner it always was. “I’ll give you an extra fifty to stay and clean glassware.” He immediately turned back to his office without giving Eames a chance to reply. Not that Eames would have refused if he’d been able; money was money. He merely rolled up his sleeves and edged his way behind the bar, nodding to Gerry the bartender in greeting. By the end of the night his hands were chapped from the hot water, but the extra fifty made up for it.

Eames started making a habit of staying late to help clean up. First it was glassware, then collecting trash and “spraying” the chairs in the champagne room and private booths. Then it was cleaning the mirrors in the dressing rooms and vacuuming. The owners liked that Eames never refused and Eames loved the increase of cash flow. He was shocked at his own ability to save, as he’d never really been able to hold onto money for long before. It certainly helped to not have anyone to try and impress with electronics, clothes, or other toys. His only goal at this point was getting the hell out of the basement and away from Tallulah. 

After his fifth week, Browning finally put Eames on payroll. 

With all the running about and solitary confinement to the front door, Eames himself was shocked he even had a chance to develop an attraction to anyone. Further adding to the surprise was that the object of this little crush was completely against Eames’ normal type. Eames had always had an eye for men like himself; thick and muscled, maybe a little chest hair. He’d never been one to play the twink field, but he always had loved a challenge. Arthur certainly was that. 

Truth be told, the initial attraction wasn’t much of a shock as his bubble butt caught every eye in the room, especially when on display in his thong. Eames had originally appreciated the view and then moved on, not paying him any further mind. The petite brunet grew on him though with a slow and steady burn through crossed paths and chance encounters. Arthur often rushed past Eames at the door, engulfed in his pea coat and heavy scarf with cheeks flushed red by the cold. Eames sometimes caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye when he was mingling for table dances or up on the main stage. Eames supposed that he liked that fact that while Arthur was built slim and slight, he didn’t take on the slutty boyish persona most of the other “twink” dancers did. His coldness made Eames want to know more instead of scare him away, made him want to figure out how the other man ticked. 

Eames saw his chance the next week. He was just leaving the club when he saw Arthur outside, fumbling in his messenger bag for his keys. His head was bowed down as he searched, apparently not hearing Eames approach. Eames stepped up beside him, his hands deep in his pockets as he tried to force himself to speak. Arthur’s head whipped around, startled by Eames’ close proximity. His body went rigid, coiled as though ready to defend himself from the much larger man. Eames held up his hands and took a step back to calm him, smiling in what he’d hoped was a friendly manner. From the dark look it raised in Arthur’s eyes though Eames guessed he missed the mark a bit. 

“Hey...Arthur right?” Eames felt silly keeping his hands up so pushed them back into his pockets. He opened his mouth to speak again but was cut off coldly by Arthur. 

“I’m not going to suck your dick,” he said, frosty and unwavering. “You’re not going to fuck me, I’m not going to jack you off...I’m a stripper, not a whore, so don’t even fucking ask.”

Eames’ brows shot up, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Suppose a good fingerbang’s also out of the question then?” he asked cheekily, his grin again not as contagious as he’d hoped for if Arthur’s jaw clenching was anything to go by. He coughed, drawing a broad hand over his face with a groan. “Sorry....fuck this isn’t going like I thought it would...look I just keep seeing you around the club and you look like you need a drink just as much as I need a friend...just wondered if you wanted to go get a drink or a coffee or something.”

Arthur looked skeptical, but relaxed a bit. He shrugged his messenger bag back over his shoulder, his arms crossing over his chest. “Really,” he said, eyes narrowed. “That’s it? Cause my feet are killing me and I have absolutely no energy for bullshit tonight.”

Eames shrugged, a hand rubbing idly over his belly. “No bullshit...just a drink.”

Arthur glanced back towards the club, his gears obviously turning at lightning speed. He was still guarded as he fished his keys out of his bag. “Fine,” he said, the hardness fading from his face leaving a nervousness Eames found adorable in its wake. “There’s a quiet place down on Sutton...called The Downtowner...you know it?”

Eames grimaced. “I don’t think so...”

Arthur twirled his keys around a finger, clinking them together when he caught them in his palm. “Do you have a car? You can just....follow me.”

Eames nodded, tight lipped. His stomach was beginning to swim with nerves, thanking the lord or whomever else was listening that gave him this chance with such a hot guy. He dimly hoped Arthur’s standoffish nature wasn’t a sign of major baggage, but then again he wasn’t really one to judge. Anyone would have to have at least a little baggage or low standards to date a recently released convict. He watched Arthur slide into his seat, the young man glancing back over his shoulder quickly before shutting the door. Eames got into his truck, allowing himself one deep breath to calm his nerves before starting the engine.

“Here goes nothing.”


	5. Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, work has been a bit rough lately.

Arthur was seriously beginning to question his own sanity. What the fuck was he thinking? From day one of working at Fisch, one of the biggest rules he’d set for himself was that he wouldn’t go out with anyone from the club. He’d wanted his private life completely separate, wanted to have nothing to tie him to the place so when the day came that he could leave he wouldn’t be leaving any part of himself at the club. 

Eames wasn’t even his real type. He was so ridiculously stocky, more thickly built than any guy Arthur had ever dated or would have taken seriously. Not to say Arthur didn’t find him attractive, with those lips Eames couldn’t not be hot, but with all his tattoos and thuggish brawn he looked more likely to mug Arthur then ask him out. But when Eames had finally approached him, instead of the cocky bravado Arthur had faced from similar meatheads, the big man was tripping over his own words like a nervous little boy. He looked so hopeful, so earnest. Arthur wasn’t a man easily surprised, and anything that surprised him always piqued his interest. 

Arthur had been hit on plenty of times in his short time dancing at Club Fisch, by bouncers, patrons, even Browning himself. They always made him feel cheap. To them he was just a means to an end, a fantasy, a thing, but never a person. This was the first time he’d been hit on though that reminded him of his life before the club. Just a guy who thought he was hot and had worked up the courage to ask him out for a drink. Despite the rational side of his mind telling him that this was completely against any sort of good judgement, despite being unsure of the situation and nervous that it would come crumbling down, Arthur felt excitement flicker in his belly when he pulled the keys out of his ignition and exited his car. 

Arthur recognized Eames’ truck stalled at the end of the parking lot and tentatively ambled towards it. He furrowed his brows when he saw that Eames was still sitting in the driver’s seat with the engine running. He quietly moved towards the driver’s side door, leaning forward to look at Eames while still out of arm’s reach. He saw Eames just sitting there, hands still wrapped around the top of the steering wheel. 

Arthur tapped lightly on the window, trying not to chuckle at the way Eames jumped at the sound. Eames glanced over at him, lips in a tight smile as he raised a finger to indicate he’d be out in a minute. Arthur watched him take a deep breath and turn off the engine, stepping back when Eames opened the truck door. 

By the time Eames was out of the truck, he was smiling broadly, crooked teeth on full display. “How the hell did you find this place?” he asked, indicating to the pub and the residential area surrounding it. 

Arthur shrugged. “I used to go to school around here, liked to come here and study back when it was a coffee house during the day.” 

He lead the way inside, Eames trailing close behind. The Downtowner may have changed from the original coffee house into a nighttime public house, but it had kept everything that gave it its original charm. The place was homey, an old house barely renovated into anything more. There were over-stuffed couches and chairs arranged intimately about the living room, built in benches set into alcoves on either side a large fireplace, which was currently glowing with a crackling blaze. A large wooden bar was set up in the spacious dining room, small tables spilling into the parlour. 

Arthur moved immediately to the bar, fishing his wallet out and ordering two pints from the busy bartender. Eames sidled up next to him, eyes going wide when he took in the thick stack of bills in Arthur’s wallet. 

“Jesus,” Eames breathed out. “How the hell do you even close it?”

Arthur looked back at him before pulling out several bills and dropping them onto the bar top. “Don’t get too excited, they’re all ones.” He stuffed his wallet back into his pocket and offered a small half smile. “You’re getting the next round.”

Eames grinned like an idiot at Arthur’s assumption of a next round, scratching the back of his neck with his thick fingers. “Whatever you say, darling.” 

The endearment warmed Arthur, and he found it hard not to steal little glances at Eames while he directed the other man towards the stairs. Eames followed without question, extending an arm for Arthur to lead the way once they reached the second floor. Arthur had definitely appreciated the view on the way up; all those muscles finally worth it when he saw Eames’ ass in action beneath his sweatpants. 

They ended up in one of the bedrooms which had been converted into a library nook, wooden bar height booths banked in by bookshelves, chapel style lanterns offering a dim but intimate light. The bookshelves on either side of the booth made it feel more secluded despite the fact there were several other people in the room. Speakers about the room emitted soft music which served to drown out the hum of other people’s conversation. 

Arthur took a seat, his back straight and his elbows on the table as he watched Eames slump down, sprawling comfortably into his side of the booth. He smoothed his palms over the leather seat, looking around appreciatively. “This is nice,” he said. “Oddest fucking bar I’ve ever been in, but nice.” 

Arthur nodding, taking a sip of his beer. 

“So you said you used to go to school here, did you drop out or something?”

Arthur’s brows furrowed at the comment, almost not sure if Eames had actually asked it. “I didn’t drop out...” He drawled, picking up his pint. “I graduated.”

Eames nodded, his thick lips pursed appreciatively. He had the decency to flush at his incorrect assumption, straightening in his seat and letting his forearms rest against the tabletop. “Impressive.” he said. “What was your major?” 

Arthur looked down at his beer, suddenly self conscious. “It was a dual major...not that it’s helped me get another job...”

“You’re thinking of leaving the thongs behind and moving on to something better?” Eames cut in, crooked teeth peeking through his cheeky grin. 

Arthur shot him a displeased look before draining almost half his pint. Eames followed suit, tossing his back as he likely discovered he had made another blunder. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry...I’m not normally this bad but this is the first date thing I’ve had in years...I know I’m twatting it up. If you can believe it, I actually used to be charming.”

Arthur sat back, holding his pint in both hands, almost cradling it. “Why the long gap?” he asked, ready to put the attention on Eames for a bit. 

Eames grimaced, gingerly setting his glass down. “I uh...just got out of the joint a few months ago.”

Arthur’s gaze snapped up to him, wishing he’d gone for something stronger instead of beer. A conversation where he realized he was on a date with an ex-con surely called for Vodka. He could have almost laughed at the absurdity of his current situation, could almost hear his mother say ‘really Arthur, why can’t you just find a nice boy.’ “A few as in...three?”

Eames pushed out a gust of air through his nose in lieu of a laugh, his face scrunching. “A few as in five.”

Arthur took several more gulps of his beer. 

“To save you from the embarrassment of asking...I was locked up on charges of forgery, larceny, and illegal possession of a firearm.” Eames took a sip. “Of course if they’d gotten me for the embezzlement, robbery, and impersonating a federal agent...you and I wouldn’t be having this little chat now.” Eames winked, that charm he’d spoken of finally coming into play. 

Arthur finally let out an exasperated laugh, mirthless and deep, his head hanging low. He honestly thought he might cry, but this apparently was there his life had head to, and crying sure wasn’t going to turn Eames into an Ivy League lawyer or a doctor or even a teacher. He knew he was likely being overdramatic and definitely being rude, but Eames gave him his space, not pressing Arthur for an explanation. 

“Please don’t go running off just yet, darling,” Eames said, leaning forward with his arms folded on the table. “I’m facing a third strike and on my absolute best behavior. Trust me, I don’t check IDs and wipe semen off of chairs because it’s a dream or aspiration of mine.”

“Yeah, taking my clothes off and rubbing the erections of strange men was a real goal of mine too,” Arthur replied, his eyes hot with sadness though a small but genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head, heels of his hands rubbing against his eyes. He didn’t apologise, and when he looked up at Eames he could swear he saw understanding in the man’s calm gaze. “You going to don a g-string any time soon?” Arthur asked, changing the subject.

Eames leaned forward with a conspiratorial wink. “How do you know I’m not wearing one now?”

Arthur laughed, rolling his eyes as he took another long drink. “Professional insight,” he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

Eames grinned at him, the brow with a scar cutting through it arching devilishly. He really was a handsome bugger…

“How’s it going, boys?” A server leaned over the table and collected their empty glasses, wiping the table quickly with a rag. “Can I get you anything else tonight? We take cash up here, or they accept cards downstairs at the bar.” She reached into her apron, pulling out a tablet and pen. 

Eames looked at Arthur as he pulled his wallet out. “This one on me, right?” He ordered them another round of the same, handing the cash to the petite girl. When she was gone, Arthur looked to Eames expectantly for an answer to his previous question.

Eames’ tongue pressed behind his teeth. “You see, I’m trying to be good, darling...have to stay on the straight and narrow now, keep my composure. Can’t be decking some idiot for grabbing by bum or anything. Really, Arthur, I don’t know how you do it, you must have the patience of a saint.”

Arthur snorted, his head lolling to the side. “Money,” he said. “I had a guy tonight ask me if I like to take it up the ass. I gave him a pretty little smile, called him a naughty boy, and made three hundred bucks in the VIP room. In my head I broke his nose and a few of his teeth, though.” 

“You rebel,” Eames practically purred. “Is it usually that bad?”

Arthur shrugged. “Not always, but it’s happened enough I can just roll with it. It’s the drunk ones that are the worst. They’re - unpredictable.” He remembered the week before when Browning had to step in with a bouncer to pull off a drunk who’d gotten too handsy in the VIP room. Arthur was far from helpless, but the man had size and weight on him, and had managed to catch him off guard. He’d been rattled more than he cared to admit, but at least the bouncer had been quick to intervene. Browning had approached him after, clasping him on the shoulder with a wry smile and a quick “You’re alright, kiddo,” as though that made it all ok.

Eames’ brows rounded. “Even if the money is decent. You seem like a smart guy, have a degree and everything...you really don’t want to try and get into something else?”

Arthur felt a sinking sensation in his gut, flooded again with the frustrations of getting yet another ‘Thanks for applying but we’re hiring internally’ email from a school he’d really wanted to work at. He’d been applying everywhere, but it seemed everyone was hit by the budget cuts or just not willing to hire on more teachers. His fingers trembled a little, so he pulled his hands down into his lap and below Eames’ eye level. “I’m trying...no bites so far. Plus I’ve got massive student loans which accompany that college degree, and an Aunt I’m trying to keep in a private group home uptown. She doesn’t even know who I am anymore, but she was always good to me, and she’s comfortable there, you know? I didn’t make a ton of money in the classroom, so...”

Eames’ eyes went wide, but not in that lecherous way Arthur experienced in the club. He seemed genuinely impressed by the revelation, maybe even a little surprised. “You’re a teacher?”

Arthur nodded stiffly, still weary at the prospect of expanding on such a touchy situation. 

Eames’ jaw cocked to the side, a delighted noise spilling from his thick mouth. “That’s fantastic. What grade did you teach?”

“Fifth.” Arthur felt sick, his eyes falling down to his lap as he realized the heat behind his eyes was a prelude to wetness. He breathed in deeply through his nose, blinking hard before forcing himself to look up. “Sorry, I’m not really up to talking about it...it’s not you just…” He huffed. “Tell me something interesting about yourself?” 

Eames’ face scrunched, his confident demeanor slipping just enough for Arthur to notice. He rubbed one broad hand through his hair, his cheeks puffing with a deep exhale. “Interesting....well...there’s not much I’m afraid. I’m living with my little sister, who doesn’t like me too much. She’s married with a baby, and we just have absolutely nothing in common.”

It was now Arthur who looked at Eames with rounded brows, his eyes crinkled in sympathy. “That sounds lovely.”

The server returned, handing them their drinks and giving Eames his change. Eames pushed it back towards her, insisting it was her tip. She smiled and left, quickly moving to the next table. Arthur was relieved for another drink, if only that it gave him something to fiddle with. He hated idle hands.

“Could be worse,” Eames sighed, returning to their previous conversation. “I’m still shocked she took me in at all, after all I put her through with my bullshit when we were growing up. It’s just....it’s not pleasant.”

Arthur watched him, caught the tightness in Eames’ jaw and the bulge of his veins from the tension of trying to maintain his composure and stay within the realm of pleasantry. He recognized the expression well, and felt a tightness in his chest for the ex-con before him. “What about your parents?” he asked before he could stop himself. If he and Eames were going to have this little heart to heart though, they might as well go for it. 

“Dead,” Eames said, casually. “Mom about eight years ago and dad almost two years now. I have an aunt but she wrote me off years ago...I deserved it.” He flashed Arthur a toothy smile but Arthur could see the pain behind it. “It’s pretty lonely though. Had to leave all my friends behind when I decided to make a fresh start. My mom always had a way of making me feel better; sometimes i just wish I could give her a call and bullshit back and forth for a bit, you know?”

Lonely. Arthur knew a thing or two about that. He told himself he’d gotten used to coming home to an empty apartment, to fewer and fewer voicemails from friends who’d just given up on a call back or knew the answer to an offer to hang out. Arthur was so lonely sometimes he swore he could taste it. His friends were all settled though, had gotten married or had full time jobs and just didn’t know what to say to appease Arthur, to make him feel better, and it only made it worse when they tried. 

“My mom’s gone too,” Arthur confessed. “She was my best friend...cheesy but true. Dad never liked me much, and liked me even less when I came out. He said he couldn’t ever be more disappointed in me but -” Arthur gestured to himself and the table. “I’m pretty sure this would take the cake.”

“Getting a drink with an ex-con or stripping?” Eames asked, no guile in his voice. 

“Both.” Arthur said. “All of it...fucking everything.” He rubbed his palm over his face, feeling the rush of shame which made him feel like he was seventeen all over again, watching his father retreat back to his car after he told Arthur what he really meant to him anymore. Knowing it was the last time he’d see him. 

“Sorry,” Eames said, cutting off his line of thought. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Arthur shook his head. “You didn’t.” He looked up when Eames’ hand covered his own, warm and soothing. He stroked his thumb over the back of Arthur’s hand, barely ghosting over his skin before it was gone again. 

“You’re brave,” Eames said, voice low. “I never had the stones to tell my old man, or any of my friends really. Knew it wouldn’t be something they’d find digestible.”

Arthur leaned forward. “They don’t sound like good friends, then.”

Eames chuckled. “Probably should have been my first clue. You know how it is though when you’re young and feel like no one will know you or accept you more than these blokes you hang with. Figured it was just something I’d always have to keep to myself.”

“Yet here you are,” Arthur said. “Working at a gay bar and on a big gay date.” he winked, flooded with warmth at the way Eames looked at him. Those thick lips shiny from beer after he took a drink, and Arthur had the urge to lean forward and lick the small bit of foam from the corner of Eames’ mouth. Eames wiped his mouth with the back of his hand though, so Arthur leaned back in his seat. 

“So this is a date then?” Eames asked, gaze fixed on Arthur. 

Arthur considered this before nodding. “Sure,” he said. “You’re not a guy I’d typically go out with, but then not much in my life is typical right now.”

Eames laughed heartily, not offended in the least. “I never have really dated per se, but you’re about half the size of a guy I’d normally hook up with. I’ve been wanking to studs and staches since I can remember. ”

Arthur leaned forward excitedly, tucking one leg beneath him. “Where did you usually hook up with guys then, if you were on the down low.”

Eames looked thoroughly amused. “The woods a few times, in the alley behind the gym I worked out at. Once at my mom’s place, down in the basement, but I was so scared we were going to get caught I could barely keep my hard-on.”

“That’s kinda sexy though,” Arthur said, rolling his glass between his palms. “The whole ‘could get caught at any moment’ sort of thing.”

Eames shrugged his big shoulders, fat lips spreading as the tip of his tongue swept over his teeth. “Might be sexy now that I don’t have to worry about getting shot over it...or shanked in the showers.” He fixed his eyes on Arthur, gaze still playful but now with a sultry undertone. Arthur found himself matching Eames, looking at the other man through his lashes. 

“How do you know I won't shank you in the shower?” Arthur asked, barely able to keep his composure. 

Eames’ look was positively devilish as he leaned forward, pointer finger playing over the skin just under his mouth. “Why Arthur,” he drawled, practically purring out the name. “Are you telling me that fingerbang is back on the table?”

Arthur looked up at him, one brow arched enough to wrinkle his forehead. He let the tip of his tongue play over his top teeth, considering his answer. “Depends,” he said slowly, enjoying the intrigue flickering through the other man’s eyes. “Are you willing to hook up with someone less than half the size of your normal partners?”

Eames leaned forward still, that cheeky glint still in his eye. “Well I suppose that also depends,” he said, running the slick pad of his finger over Arthur’s folded ones. “Are you willing to hook up with someone twice the size of your accustomed partners?”

Eames might have grabbed his crotch for all the subtlety he exhibited with those words, but they went straight to Arthur’s cock. It had been a while since he got laid, a while since he’d even wanted to. Eames was hot, he was certainly willing, and as they both established they were not each other’s usual taste, it took some of the edge of expectation off. Arthur sighed, feigning disinterest. “You know what, I don’t think a fingerbang is what I need tonight.”

“No?” Eames asked, coy.

Arthur shook his head, raising his eyes to Eames, unwavering as they met his gaze head on. “I want you to fuck me.”

Eames pursed that fat mouth, his ridiculous lips spreading into a sly smile. “Whatever you like, darling.”


	6. Eames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The explicit rating is coming into play here, guys.

Eames

Eames didn’t know what he expected Arthur’s place to look like, but he was certain he hadn’t expected him to be quite this neat and tidy. He had tasteful furniture and prints of Escher lining the walls, his books organized by size and remote controls lined up parallel on his coffee table. Eames felt awkward in the small but elegant apartment. Seeing how Arthur lived made Eames painfully aware of his current situation of basement dweller and the meager opportunities which awaited him. Arthur was smart, a teacher for fucksake, and wouldn’t be at Fisch forever...and he certainly wouldn’t likely want any reminders of his low point when he was back where he belonged in civilized society. He certainly wouldn’t want Eames...

“Bedroom’s this way,” Arthur said, hanging his jacket on a hook by the door before strolling past Eames. Eames watched Arthur pull his shirt over his head and drop it on the floor, his back smooth and perfect. He glanced over his shoulder once before undoing his jeans and pushing them straight down, taking his underwear with him leaving him completely naked. Eames swallowed, taking in the firm round ass and slim hips. Watching the dimples above Arthur’s ass as he strolled to the bedroom, Eames decided that if this was going to be a short lived affair, he was going to enjoy anything he could get. 

Eames didn’t hesitate to follow Arthur’s lead, stripping off his jacket and toeing off his shoes in record time. He moved up behind the slight man, tilting his head down to press a hot open mouthed kiss to Arthur’s nape. He heard Arthur’s quick intake of breath, felt his shoulders hike as Eames’ fingertips found his narrow waist. 

Arthur’s head fell to the side with a sigh, his hands coming to rest atop Eames’. “Sit on the bed,” he said, the prior playfulness now replaced by a husky whisper as they got down to business. Eames released him and sat as he was told, his heartrate spiking when Arthur sank down to his knees before him and began working at Eames’ pants. “I’m gonna suck your cock,” he said, mouth twitching in delight when he saw Eames suck in a breath at the words. “Just don’t cum in my mouth, ok?”

Eames nodded, hissing out “saying stuff like that isn’t helping,” as he lifted his hips for Arthur to drag his sweats down just enough to get his cock out. Arthur let out a hum of appreciation at the hardness before dipping his head to take Eames’ prick into his mouth. 

Jesus, he wasn’t even really doing anything yet and it was amazing. 

Eames couldn’t stop a whimpered “oh fuck!” from slipping out over and over, his vision swimming and stomach bottoming out. It had been so long since he’d had a blowjob, so fucking long. Arthur ran the flat of his tongue over Eames’ frenulum and Eames jerked, accidentally pushing more of his cock into Arthur’s open mouth. “Fuck that’s good...”

Arthur whimpered around the intrusion, taking Eames in deep. He didn’t seem bothered by Eames’ noises so Eames stopped caring, huffing and groaning as Arthur sucked him, his head bobbing in his lap. Arthur’s technique was borderline professional, not that Eames would tell him and ruin the moment. He put a shaky hand in Arthur’s hair, bemused how tentative he was to touch the other man when his dick was currently housed in Arthur’s throat. The dark locks beneath his fingers were surprisingly soft, the strands slipping free from the loose grip so that Eames had to entwine his fingers to get a good grip. When Arthur delicately skimmed him with his teeth, Eames jerked, tugging at Arthur’s hair to pull him off. “I’m gonna cum” he warned hoarsely. 

Arthur immediately moving back from Eames and his hairpin trigger dick. “Shit, hold up...,” Arthur groaned, getting off the bed. “I’m going to get a condom...squeeze it or slap it or something.”

Eames’ brows shot up, horrified. “Slap it?” he asked, the thought alone taking the edge off.

Arthur snorted as he rummaged in his drawer. “Well not that, just don’t cum...I haven’t been fucked in ages.”

Eames squeezed himself about the base, watching Arthur’s ass as he rummaged in his top dresser drawer. He felt like a fucking teenager, excited to the point of vibration that he was about to get laid. Arthur turned triumphantly, tossing the condom at Eames before flopping onto his back beside him. He watched Eames roll the rubber on and jack it into place, pouty lips puffing out. “I thought I was promised twice the size of my usual,” he said, stone faced. 

Eames looked over at him, jaw dropped and eyes wide. “That you for the ego boost, Arthur...you do know it shrinks when it’s upset.”

Arthur chuckled, pushing at Eames to get him to stand up. “Are you kidding? My last boyfriend was huge, sometimes I just couldn’t face the damn thing.” He then dropped his gaze to Eames’ cock. “Now get moving, Mr. Eames.”

Eames stood, glancing down at his still somewhat clothed form. “You want me to keep my clothes on?” 

Arthur nibbled his lip, eyes roaming Eames’ body with a groan. “I used to have this fantasy about a guy screwing me while he had all his clothes on...it was seriously my biggest fantasy.” He leaned forward and tugged at Eames’ sweats, baring more of his meaty thighs. “But now I’m a little tired of being the only one naked.” He flopped back on the bed, his fingers laced behind his head, seemingly intent to just watch. 

Eames felt ridiculous, his condom wrapped dick hanging out of his pants, but supposed Arthur appreciated this little role reversal. He stood, looming over Arthur who still lay prone on the bed, one hand lowering to rub over his swollen cock as he watched Eames draw his shirt over his head and bare his muscular chest and arms. Eames had worked hard for his body in prison, and in his more sedentary months it had softened just slightly into a general thickness which he himself almost preferred. Arthur didn’t seem to mind it in the slightest either, if his soft panting was any indication. He pushed his sweats all the way down, trying not to grin when Arthur looked at his thighs and licked his lips hungrily. 

“Fuck,” Arthur groaned, his legs parting in what almost looked like a subconscious manner. His back arched as he continued to play with himself, his fingers now reaching lower to squeeze his balls. 

Despite the excitement of finally getting laid, the pressure of having to perform sexually after such a ‘long winter’ so to speak was intense. Eames was grateful when Arthur leaned up to grip him by the back of the neck and drag him down between his legs. Eames collapsed atop him with a groan, his head immediately dipping to lay claim to Arthur’s mouth. Arthur’s body felt so slight beneath his own, almost birdlike. His long legs rubbed against Eames’ hips, gripping slightly as Eames’ broad hand scooped behind Arthur’s head and pulled him closer, pushing his tongue into the smaller man’s mouth. 

Arthur was all over him, arching his chest against him, rubbing his cock alongside Eames’, his hands gripping at Eames’ back and his ass. Eames’ blood felt like it was fizzling in his veins, crawling with an excitement he was trying desperately to contain. He couldn’t get over the fact that this gorgeous guy was his for the taking, that he didn’t have to keep one eye out for any guards or fellow gangbangers. 

Arthur moaned low when Eames’ thick lips closed against his throat, his teeth nipping harder than he’d intended. He soothed the spot with his lips before mouthing his way down Arthur’s neck, delighting in how the other man shivered beneath him. He found Arthur’s prick, the swollen flesh silky beneath his fingers as he stroked it. A chuckle slipped out before he could hold it in, Arthur’s eyes immediately shooting up to demand what was so damn funny. 

“Sorry,” Eames said, his tongue running over his crooked teeth. “Just thinking how nice it is to be able to touch a bloke’s cock without worrying about getting shivved.” He winked, laughing aloud when Arthur rolled his eyes at him. Arthur’s eyes fluttered shut though when Eames licked a wet stripe up the underside of his cock though, hips shuddering when Eames’ tongue flickered over the head. He wrapped his thick lips around that pretty cock, sliding down to the base before backing off, holding Arthur’s hips still to build up a solid rhythm. Good to see his lack of practice hadn’t dampened his technique. 

Arthur’s fingers tangled in his hair, clinging with both hands as he mewled and rocked his hips as much as he could with Eames holding him down. Eames hummed around him, sliding his mouth off and sliding his hands from Arthur’s hips to his flat quivering belly. “Like riding a bike,” he murmured, moving further down to mouth at Arthur’s smooth balls. 

“Fuck, Eames,” Arthur moaned, letting the other man grip him beneath his thighs and push his knees back towards his chest. Eames ran the flat of his tongue over Arthur’s hole, tickled pink at the way Arthur arched into him. This was all turning him on way too much though, and while Arthur seemed to enjoy the impromptu rimjob, he had been quite specific with what he really wanted. 

“You have any lube?” Eames asked, brushing his thumb over Arthur’s hole. 

Arthur nodded, indicating the side table. 

Eames leaned over to look in the drawer, his eyes widening when he saw the sizeable ribbed blue dildo inside. “You sure I’m going to be enough?” 

“Definitely,” Arthur said with a little smirk, his hands resting above his head. Eames took him in briefly before squirting some lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together while he pushed one of Arthur’s thighs up towards his chest to open him. Arthur was ridiculously tight around his finger, the sudden intrusion making the slight man clench down on Eames’ finger even more on reflex. 

Eames wanted to ask him if it was too much, but that tight grip on him made him even more excited for the main event. He pushed a second finger in, scissoring them as much as he could. He knew he was panting, that his whole body was a coiled spring, that he was starting to lose control. Eames just couldn’t get himself to slow down, too overcome with excitement. He gripped Arthur’s hips with both hands and dragged him up atop his thighs, forcing Arthur’s back to bow. Arthur’s arms stayed tangled in the sheets above his head, the rise and fall of his skinny chest even more pronounced from how he was stretched out. Eames couldn’t help but run his hand from the slim youth’s chest to his taut belly, the hand not between Arthur’s legs stroking his cock to spread the lube before fumbling for Arthur’s hole. 

When Eames finally pushed in, he lost all ability to process coherent thought. It had been fucking ‘ages’ since he’d had real sex, and the way Arthur gripped him warm and snug robbed him of any chance of slowing. He kept pushing in, thrusting forward until he was almost completely embedded. 

Arthur let out a cry, his eyes screwing shut and back bowing as he struggled to find leverage to push Eames away. “Easy big boy,” he ground out, voice strained. “That fucking hurt.”

Eames was sure he’d be mortified later, but for the moment he was still too awash in the delight of Arthur’s tight body. He rubbed Arthur’s belly soothingly, the way it quivered under his fingertips making his hips slam forward. Arthur let out a keening whine, his eyes shut tight and body turning to jelly as Eames startled to piledrive into him. Arthur jerked with his thrusts, his shoulders pushed back and forth against the bed. The noises though, those little whimpers and cries were driving Eames crazy, urging his hips faster. His abs burned with the strain of it, his thighs were shaking but he kept going. 

“Easy!” Arthur’s voice was strangled as he sought to find the breath for it. “Too hard, fuck...not so hard...” Eames realized then that Arthur’s legs were struggling for leverage, his hands white knuckling the sheets. 

Eames cursed at himself, managing a weak nod and a “sorry,” as he looked down and about him, like the solution was written on the rumpled bedding. “Um...from behind, maybe?”

Arthur nodded, pushing Eames off weakly so he could turn onto his front. He ended up more on his side, one knee raised to open himself to Eames. Eames mounted him again, the thrusts gentler this time, more shallow. Arthur was moaning steadily now, his hips rocking back to meet Eames, his face buried in the crook of his arm. The new angle gave Arthur more leverage to move against Eames, to arch himself until Eames was rubbing inside of him just so. Eames ran a hand down Arthur’s belly to his swollen prick, stroking him a few times before reaching lower to palm his balls. He squeezed them gently, repeating when Arthur moaned loudly in approval. 

Eames could feel his orgasm building, and went back to stroking Arthur’s cock. He finally just encircled it with his hand, letting Arthur thrust into it while panting softly. Both were sweating now, Eames long past the capacity for any sort of grace in his movements and Arthur long past caring. Eames’ orgasm caught him off guard, taking his breath momentarily as he shuddered the last of his release. 

“Fuck...wait...” Arthur whimpered, his hips moving over Eames’ softening cock as he reached down to stroke himself. “So close...so fucking close...”

Eames gasped against the back of Arthur’s neck when he felt him cum, his body clenching so mercilessly on his spent cock that Eames had to pull out. Both of them lay panting for a minute before Eames finally rolled off of Arthur, flopping in his back with an arm slung over his head. “Fuck me” he wheezed, letting his head loll to the side so he could take in Arthur’s still boneless form. “Not too bad for someone who’s not been laid in four years, huh?” Eames slapped Arthur on the ass, his hand barely making it as he didn’t bother aiming. 

“Mmm...” Arthur snuggled his pillow closer, turning his head to face Eames. “Happy to help you knock the rust off.” 

“How long had it been for you?” Eames asked. 

Arthur sighed. “Too damn long.”

Eames didn’t press on, content to lie there and slowly regain cognitive function. Arthur was breathing deep and even, and for a moment Eames thought he was asleep, but when he looked over Arthur’s eyes were open and fixed on him. 

“Something on your mind?” Eames asked. 

Arthur shrugged. “Just nice to have someone else in bed. I always used to like sleeping alone...but I’ve been so damn lonely lately all I wanted was to go to sleep and know someone else was there.” Arthur gave another small shrug, his damp hair clinging to his forehead. “I’d get a dog but I hate how their hair gets everywhere.”

“So you gave me a chance instead?” Eames asked, rolling onto his side with one elbow propping him up. “I will admit, I don’t shed but if I fall asleep I can’t promise I wont hump your leg.”

Eames felt a warmth in his belly at the smile this drew from Arthur, small but deep in his eyes. 

Arthur doesn’t ask him to leave and Eames doesn’t go. Arthur was right, it was nice to fall asleep knowing there was someone next to him, and the last thing he wanted after such great sex was to go back to his sister’s drafty basement. He soon heard Arthur’s even breathing, his face turned so Eames couldn’t see it. He reached down, tugging off the condom before tying it and throwing it towards what looked in the dim light like a rubbish bin. Eames reached down then and pulled up the comforter to cover both himself and Arthur before turning on his side and following the other man into sleep. 

 

Eames woke the next morning to an empty bed and the heavy smell of citrus shampoo in the air. Arthur was out of bed, and there were the tinny sounds of television voices coming from the living room. Eames rubbed his eyes as he stood, a hand reaching down to scratch his nuts before sliding on his underwear. He didn’t want to press his luck with Arthur’s hospitality, but really wanted a shower before getting fully dressed again, so after a deep breath for ‘morning after’ confidence, he walked carefully into the living room. 

Arthur was sitting on the couch in a pair of thin sweatpants and a t-shirt, cup of coffee in his hand. His hair was clean and still wet, combed back straight with the ends just beginning to curl. He looked up at Eames with wide eyes, quite the fetching deer in headlights. 

“Mind if I nip a quick shower?” Eames asked.

Arthur shook his head, knocking a few strands of hair out of place. “Go ahead. There’s clean towels in the closet...feel free to use some shampoo.”

Eames nodded, heading into the bathroom. He showered quickly, grateful to get the sticky remains of the previous night off. Eames was still used to quick showers, even after his release, as his sister was quite adamant about conserving water, at least whenever it was him using it. 

After he had dried himself off, he placed the towel in the laundry hamper beside the sink, unable to help himself from glancing over Arthur’s toiletries. He had an electric toothbrush, arranged just so next to his toothpaste. He had a subtle cologne in the medicine cabinet, along with dental floss, floss picks, and even a metal pick which Eames was always terrified of at the dentist. Everything was facing front and center, a shelf for teeth, a shelf for skincare, and a shelf for grooming. Meticulous. Eames tended to keep everything in a cup beside the sink; toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, comb. The bare necessities. 

After getting dressed, Eames exited the steamy bathroom only to find Arthur in the kitchen, fiddling with the coffee pot. 

“You want a coffee before you go?” Arthur tossed back over his shoulder, pulling two mugs down from a cabinet.

“Love one, thanks.” Eames moved to the couch, finding a bag of peas on one side when he went to sit down. He picked it up, the bag sweating with condensation but still cold to the touch. “I’m no culinary expert, but I think you’re supposed to warm these, darling.”

Arthur handed Eames a steaming cup, snatching the bag from his fingers. “Well an over-eager someone gave me quite the battering last night, and I had to make due with what was available.” Arthur tossed the bag back on the couch before gingerly sitting on it, eyes cutting half hearted judgment at Eames. 

Eames was torn between guilt and pride, but opted to express the former. “Sorry if I was too rough on you last night...”

Arthur laughed lightly, his mouth crowned with dimples. “Oh I’ll bet you are,” he said, relaxing back into the couch. He propped his feet on the coffee table, both hands holding his mug. “I needed it, though...sometimes there’s nothing like a good pounding to really work the stress out.”

Eames coughed and swallowed wrong, more steaming coffee than intended searing its way down his throat. He raised the back of his hand to cover his mouth, glancing to Arthur with a quirked brow. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice strangled as he coughed again. 

“I’ve been told,” Arthur retorted, pushing his damp hair back.

“Well if you ever require such a service again, give me a call.” Eames brought his own feet up, leaning back into the surprisingly comfortable sofa. 

Arthur glanced over at Eames, cup raised before his mouth. “Yeah?” he asked, his genuine surprise catching Eames off guard.

“Absolutely,” Eames replied, barely resisting the urge to pull Arthur into his lap. 

Arthur sat his cup down, shifting so that he was facing Eames. “I don’t….I don’t know what you’re looking for, Eames, but things for me are kind of complicated. I don’t think I want a relationship…you know?”

Eames couldn't stop the chuckle which bubbled forth. “Don’t fret, Arthur, I understand. Pretty much the same for me, I’m just trying to get on my feet right now.”

“But you’d want to do this again,” Arthur indicated between them. “Have sex I mean.”

Eames’ toothy grin was answer enough. “It would have to be here though, my sister’s isn’t exactly an option.”

Arthur shrugged, indicating it was no problem. He leaned forward and picked up his phone, fingers pressing over the screen. “I’m labeling you as Free Sex,” he goaded, but when he gave Eames the phone to input his number, it was just labeled “Eames.”

“Cheeky twat,” Eames said, practically beaming as he typed out his number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speaking of rust, pretty sure it's been ages since I wrote an actual sex scene. Hope it was alright!


	7. Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!! Been really busy with work and RL.

Arthur

Arthur stared at the computer screen, knee bouncing as the job listings page loaded. He used to check every day, but now had slipped to once a week, sometimes less. It was just too depressing to keep checking and seeing no new jobs posted, to see he hadn’t received any new replies to his inquiries. 

Fuck, the first posting was from last week, no new postings yet again. Arthur’s knee continued to bounce as he stared at the page, willing it to magically reload. He was still rattled from Ariadne’s e-mail earlier, the petite art teacher he’d befriended at his former school had been keeping Arthur up to date on the goings and if any jobs were opening up again. At first she’d sent him long e-mails about how the kids asked after him, about how it was ridiculous of the school to think Mr. Hasan could handle both fifth grade classes on his own, about how badly she felt for Arthur. Her last e-mail had been quite brief though, that she’d let him know if anything changed. ‘Stop bothering me’ was more like it. 

Arthur groaned, shutting his laptop a little too hard as he stood. He picked up his phone, scrolling through his music playlists to select the “chillax” folder Eames had started for him the other day. It was ridiculous shit like Enya and some guy whom Eames claimed was Icelandic but sounded like he sang complete gibberish. While Arthur would never outright admit that it was actually calming to him, so far it had done the trick. When he got frustrated he just hit shuffle and let it play. He’d have preferred to lie down, but he had to get ready for work.

He crouched down, reaching beneath the bed to pull out his ‘work box’. Arthur preferred to keep his collection of hot pants, thongs, cutoff tank tops and other assorted trashy shit out of sight and out of mind. Buying them had been bad enough, and seeing them in his underwear drawer had only put Arthur in a bad mood on days he didn’t need them, so into the box they went. He dropped it on the bed, actually mumbling along with Enya while he flicked through the jumble of barely there garments. 

Arthur pulled off his boxers, drawing a g-string up his long legs. He fiddled with the back, trying to make the damn thing comfortable. Next was a pair of silver shorts he’d found in the Junior’s department, only purchased because the Christmas rush made the store so packed that the cashier was too busy to give him any grief. He tugged at the back of the shorts, urging the tight material to creep up the crack of his ass. He glanced back in the mirror, wondering if he should cut the legs any higher. 

“And who can say where the road goes….where the day flows…” he mumbled along with the song, pulling on a lime green tank top. He glanced in the mirror, straightening the bottom hem as he turned to the side. If there was one thing he was happy about in his current profession, it was how trim his waist was getting. He’d always been slim, but the small bit he’d lost around the middle only made his ass stand out more. Arthur was like his mother in that he could weigh eighty pounds and he’d still have a big ass. Having spent his whole life trying to hide it, he still wasn’t completely comfortable trying to accentuate it further, but he couldn't deny the extra tips he'd received based on it. 

Arthur grabbed a thick sweater from the clean laundry piled on top of his bed, eyes catching on the dove gray sweatpants exposed by its removal. He plucked the sweats up between two fingers, holding them up to inspect them more carefully. They were Eames’, the man must have left them the last time he slept over, or more accurately from the last time they had sex. It had only been a few times, the first awkwardly suggested after work and the others after they had hung out. The last time they had gone for a run together in the park, both equally matched for stamina though Eames was no match for Arthur’s fleetness of foot. Eames had challenged Arthur to a day lifting weights at the gym to even the score, but Arthur had no intention of pulling something important in a fruitless attempt to out-lift a man built like a truck. 

The sweatpants were stretched and soft from wear, hardly shocking as Eames practically lived in them. He knew the polite thing to do would be to return them, but instead he bent over and pulled them on. He had to pull the drawstring tight to keep them from slipping down his slim hips, and tugged at the legs while musing that Eames’ thighs pulled the material much tighter than his own did. Arthur had never been one to prefer a bigger guy, and he was almost loathe to admit he loved the feel of Eames above pinning him down, or the burn in his thighs from straddling Eames’ much wider frame. He liked having that mass of a man completely at his disposal, knowing Eames would do anything if he just asked for it. 

Being around Eames was just easy. Arthur never worried about how he looked, or that he said the right thing. He never worried about showing his temper or frustration. He never had to try. Maybe it was because he and Eames started this whole thing on the assumption a real relationship wasn’t in the cards. This was just something for fun, and it was fun. 

Arthur had always been a bit of a serial monogamist, he’d meet a guy and date him for at least a year, the longest being three. It had been that way since he was sixteen, and always went for dependable guys he could imagine a future with. While Eames was effortlessly charming, Arthur still saw him as unpredictable. 

Eames was after all a convicted felon, guilty of the crimes he was incarcerated for, and there were more Arthur likely didn’t even know about. He had robbed people, been violent, used drugs, and in his own words had driven anyone who could have been close away. Arthur didn’t judge Eames for the things he had done in the past, especially as Eames seemed so determined to change his life around. At the same time he couldn’t ignore them, and remember that Eames was only just beginning his new life.

For as close as they were getting, Eames held Arthur at arm’s length too in his own way. He had no qualms eyeballing a guy when he was with Arthur, pointing out a guy he thought was hot, asking Arthur if he found a guy hot. He’d talk about when Arthur finally found Mr. Right. Arthur wasn’t worried by any of this, he knew Eames found him incredibly hot and sexually their chemistry was amazing, it just made it all the more clear that Eames didn’t see himself in Arthur’s future.

Arthur liked to think he was being so reasonable about this whole situation, that he was just leaving this as a bit of fun and stress relief with a hot guy whom he could also be great friends with. But while he still saw what they had as casual, he still couldn’t deny the electric thrill that ran through him just from wearing Eames’ sweats. 

When he got to work Eames was sitting at the door, huddled in on himself against the cold. He straightened as soon as he saw Arthur, feet moving from the stool to the ground. His head was cocked to the side, and Arthur had work hard to bite back a smile at the stupid look on Eames’ face. The big man pulled Arthur into a half hug of greeting, which Arthur awkwardly returned. He then looked down and squawked indignantly when he saw what Arthur was wearing.

“Oi, I’ve been looking everywhere for those!” he said with a toothy grin. “And all this time you had them, Arthur you thief.”

Arthur snorted. “Wasn’t too hard seeing as you left them at my apartment. If you expect me to do your laundry I’ll take what I like.”

Eames’ eyes widened in comic surprise. “Why Arthur” he said huskily. “So forceful.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed Eames’ face back with his hand. “Idiot...I have to get to work.”

“Real quick,” Eames said, tugging the collar of his jacket up against the bitter wind. “My sister’s having a party this weekend and wants me out for the night. Want to go to a movie or something?”

“Just come over,” Arthur said, almost too quickly for his own taste. “We can get take out or something.”

Eames pursed his thick lips. “Just want me all to yourself, huh?”

Arthur kept his face neutral, pulling open the front door. “Well my dildo doesn’t make me scrambled eggs in the morning.” He heard Eames’ hearty laughter as he turned, a stupid grin on his own face as he entered the club. Arthur couldn’t seem to stop grinning as he moved towards the dressing room, biting the insides of his cheeks to try and subside it. 

When he got into the dressing room, Danny and Matt were in front of the mirror, chatting and styling their hair. Arthur felt their eyes on him as he hung up his coat and stripped off his sweats and sweater.

“Oh my god,” Danny piped up, his eyes wide for effect. “It smiles!”

Matt finally let loose a sharp laugh, hiding his mouth with a hand. “You’re such a bitch,” he muttered, still chuckling. 

Arthur normally would have rolled his eyes and offered a cutting retort, but instead he just shrugged, pulling on the blue Keds he kept in his locker. Danny and Matt seemed surprised to not get the customary stoney silence or “fuck you,” and both turned towards Arthur almost in unison. 

“What’s got you all cheery today?” Danny asked. “I didn’t know your make and model came with that function.”

“Or who,” Matt cut in. “Some guy finally melt that frosty heart of yours?”

Again Arthur shrugged, combing his hair and fingering it to encourage it's natural curl. “Just in a good mood today, I guess.”


	8. Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually alternate for each chapter, but the one I had for Eames works better later in the fic, so this is the second Arthur chapter in a row. More Eames next time!

Arthur wondered if maybe he was getting too comfortable with his job as he compared the structural integrity of two different G-Strings in the middle of the department store. His original idea that he could get away with only owning one of the horrible things was quickly squashed by a few nights of work. Not to mention that everything he owned was purchased for it’s utilitarian quality, and not for showing off his assets. He’d taken just enough of these trips to pay no mind to the customers around him and just focus on the task at hand. 

“That can’t be too comfortable.”

Arthur commended himself on his ability to not make a ridiculous noise or face when he turned to see a well dressed man standing right beside him, looking down at the garments in Arthur’s hands with a bemused smirk. The man was ruggedly handsome but well dressed, his suit expensive and in exquisite taste. He had closely cropped auburn hair and clear blue eyes which were intently fixed on the underwear in Arthur’s hand. The man reached over and thumbed at the strip of fabric which belonged between Arthur’s cheeks. 

“At this point you might just as well wear your birthday suit.”

Arthur managed a little chuckle and shrugged, flustered by the man’s presence so close to him. He flushed when the man leaned over to look at the bundle of thongs Arthur was holding. He raised his brows, reaching up to flip through some briefs, his body still close to Arthur’s. “Those all for you?”

Arthur put back one of the thongs he’d been examining, shifting the rest of the underwear awkwardly in his hands. This man literally looked like he’d walked out of one of 18 year old Arthur’s wank sessions, his type from the muscular trim build to the professional manner he carried himself in. “Oh no....well I mean they are, yeah, but its for work.”

The blue eyes widened in piqued interest, the man’s tongue pushing against his cheek as he turned his body to angle more towards Arthur, the move putting him even closer still. “Oh?” he said, one arm raising to rest atop the rack of underwear. 

Arthur nodded. “I’m a dancer,” he finally forced out, watching the realization slide over the man’s face as it set into a cocky grin. 

“Really,” the man drawled, his toothy grin almost shark-like. 

Arthur nodded again, heating under the scrutiny. “It’s a temporary thing...or at least it will have to be if thongs are going to be this damn expensive.”

The man chuckled, the smile ever present. He moved the arm which had been resting on the rack down to extend it to Arthur. “Michael.”

Arthur accepted, Michael’s hand wrapping warmly around his own. “Arthur.”

“Arthur the dancer,” Michael said, the words silky and decadent as he surveyed Arthur’s face. “I hope you don’t find this too forward, I just was over there looking for a tie and had to come over. You know, you have the most adorable frown when you’re concentrating, over thongs even.” 

Arthur couldn’t help the smile or the ridiculous little laugh that bubbled forth in a way he’d never expected to hear from himself. The man was both charming and handsome to be sure, but there was no reason to turn to some simpering ninny over him...Christ. “Hope I didn’t distract you too much from finding a tie,” he managed, fighting for a bit more composure. 

Michael sighed, raising a red tie to his throat for inspection. While not atrocious, it hardly was up to snuff with the suit he was wearing. Arthur eyed it accordingly and shook his head. “Is that really the best you could find?”

Michael shrugged sheepishly, eyes still fixed on Arthur with unblinking confidence. “...My secretary normally picks my ties for me. I’m rather ashamed to admit it, but without her I’m somewhat lost.” His brows rounded in a comical plea for pity.

Arthur eyed him unabashedly. “Well, let’s see,” he said, stepping forward towards the ties. Michael followed him, remaining several paces behind for rather transparent reasons. Arthur couldn’t deny he enjoyed the attention from such a handsome man, especially as he was approached somewhere other than the club and before the man knew his profession. He cut straight to the silk ties, flashing at glance back at Michael before running the tip of his finger over the carefully laid out fabric. He picked up a pale silver blue tie, holding it up to Michael’s neck for inspection. 

“This would be great with your eyes,” Arthur said, handing it over. 

Michael looked down at the tie, smirking as he shifted his gaze back to Arthur. “You have great taste,” he said approvingly. 

Arthur offered a small “I know” shrug in response. 

The two chatted idly for a little longer in the men’s department before Michael finally asked Arthur if he cared to go for a drink. Arthur felt an immediate shiver of excitement at being asked out by the epitome of his sexual fantasies, but it was accompanied by a sour note of self doubt. Arthur had always been confident, and only became more so as he reached his goals of graduating and becoming a teacher. He’d felt worthy of Mr. Right, a man settled in his own career who was both intelligent and suave, who was handsome and took pride in his appearance and presentation. Michael’s well cut suit and well maintained haircut were both singing their siren song to Arthur, who now only felt lacking in their wake. He’d always wanted someone he saw as an equal or who could help him grow, but now standing there holding a thong instead of a syllabus Arthur felt self conscious and laid bare. 

Nevertheless, he agreed. He scrambled out a quick text to Eames while Michael paid for his tie, eloquently typing “Met hunk @ store. OMG!” His phone quickly buzzed with a “details or didn’t happen” in reply, and Arthur had to think of dead puppies and bite his tongue to not grin like a complete idiot. Arthur just managed to type “2nite” before Michael was back, swinging his bag idly on the tip of his finger. His face was tight with contained frustration, a hand slipping into his pocket as he drew his bag over his shoulder.

“I hate to do this, seeing as I just met you,” Michael said. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have get a rain check on this drink.” His ridiculously blue eyes held both mirth and regret, but Arthur couldn’t help the stab of insecurity at the sudden change of plans. 

“Not even a first date and I’m already dumped? You’re giving me a complex.” He pouted playfully to keep it cute and downplay his own nerves.

“Perish the thought,” Michael said with a wink. “Trust me, if it weren’t actually important I’d have told them to sod off, but duty calls. Do you have a mobile?” He held out an expectant hand, the step closer he took brought him right back in the flirting zone. 

Arthur nodded, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. Michael took it, and after a series of taps handed it back to him. Arthur just catching the “message sent” announcement just before it disappeared as he took it back. Michael withdrew his own phone from his coat pocket, turning it triumphantly to show Arthur the text message he’d received. 

‘New Boyfriend Arthur,’ it read.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Well now you’re just being presumptuous,” he retorted, drolly. 

“Hardly,” Michael replied with sly smile. “Not every day I happen upon someone as gorgeous as you. Are you free at all tomorrow? I know a great place we could get dinner downtown if you fancy Thai.”

“First it was a drink and now dinner, skipping right to the second date?” 

Michael chuckled low in his throat. “If you feel deprived in any way we could go for drinks afterwards. What do you say?”

Arthur tilted his head, considering. “I suppose so. Why don’t you text me the name, seeing as you have my number now.” Arthur seriously couldn’t believe this conversation was going so smoothly, as he’d never had much of any game in the past. His stomach was fluttering with the excitement of it. He supposed that a few months of learning how to interact pleasantly with customers at the club had actually served him quite well. At this point, even if Michael was just having him on, Arthur would still be proud of how he handled himself, though he really hoped he was serious. 

Michael flashed him a sultry grin and Arthur felt himself melt a little bit, only just managing to keep his composure and not act like some idiot schoolboy. “Well good luck tonight with your crisis,” Arthur said coyly. “I suppose I’ll see you when I see you.”

Michael’s brows raised at the little slight, pointing at Arthur in hearty insistence. “Tomorrow!” he promised. “I’ll see you then Arthur.”

Arthur turned and walked towards the check out, still riding the high of the encounter. Arthur paid for his underwear before swallowing his pride and heading for the clothing department. He’d bought a few articles of clothing online, but in the end found it was cheaper to just buy items from the tween clearance section. The first time he went to the register with lime green spandex shorts he thought he’d die of embarrassment, and was sure he looked like some sort of a pervert. He was still thin enough to fit into the clothes there though, and seeing how the regulars tipped more when he changed up his outfits, he figured the purchase was worth it. So far he’d compiled several different outfits: the country boy, the skater punk, the club twink...all safely hidden in the box under the bed. Nothing too fancy, but when it came to the clients at the club it didn’t really have to be. Some white shorts, a little glitter, and a “halo” circlet and presto: angel. 

He was just eyeing a gold glitter racerback tank when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Arthur didn’t recognize the number, but couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot when he read the text and realized it was from Michael.

‘I’ve never hated my job so much in my life.’

Arthur snorted, quickly typing ‘bit dramatic.’

“What can I say, was looking forward to our date.”

Arthur glanced about and realized he should probably move on from the teens department if he was going to continue this little conversation. He found a coffee shop and, coffee acquired, plopped himself down in a stuffed chair. “You cancelled 5 secs after suggesting’ Arthur replied before following it up with ‘if I may remind you.’

‘You made quite the impression’ was the swift reply. Arthur knew he was sporting full dimples now and tucked up a leg. ‘Me or my thongs’ he typed, nibbling his lip as he pressed the send button. 

‘You’ popped onto the screen in the dialogue box. “Never understood appeal of thongs.”

By the time Arthur finally wandered back to his car, the “Michael” folder held several pages worth of messages. When his phone buzzed again he expected another, but it was Eames. He felt a pang of guilt at seeing the man’s name, suddenly realizing that Eames might not be as appreciative of the news. He calmed a bit when he saw the text ‘Details???’, telling himself Eames would be happy for him, reminding himself they weren’t exclusive.

Arthur laughed, tapping out ‘call me’ before starting the car. His phone lit up only a moment later, Eames’ name flashing. 

“A man in a shop...Arthur, you tart.”

“I won’t be questioned or judged,” Arthur replied, putting Eames on speaker. “He’s not quite beefy enough to be your type, but his eyes look like a swimming pool or something, they’re so blue.”

“Waxing poetic already? He must have run you down hard.” Eames was chuckling, sounding out of breath. 

“Trust me, I’m leading him on a merry chase,” Arthur quipped, glancing to the left before turning out onto the main road. “What are you doing? You’re panting.”

“Pull ups” Eames said. “Put that bar up last night...it’s pretty good, hasn’t even budged. Maybe I’ll finally get toned up again and lose some of this free man pudge I’ve packed on.”

“No!” Arthur protested. “I like you thick; it really suits you.”

“A double chin does not suit me,” Eames insisted, and Arthur could just picture him rolling his eyes at the very suggestion. “You can’t go getting a new man and leaving me behind fat and alone...I need my hot body back.”

“You are hot, you lummox.” Arthur merged onto the highway, heading back uptown. “I’ve never had any complaints, if you recall.” His ears flushed as he remembered riding Eames’ cock the week before, sinking his fingers into the mans’ thick shoulders and reveling in how the muscle moved beneath his hands. He’d always had a thing for toned muscle like Michael’s, but the sheer size of Eames and the way he threw his weight around was an unexpected and undeniable turn on. He remembered how Eames had flipped him over, thrusting into him so hard they rucked the bottom sheet up from where it was tucked beneath the mattress. 

“You don’t” Arthur considered his words carefully, not wanting to sound like an emotional ninny if he was completely off base. “You don’t mind, do you? If I start seeing someone?”

Eames was silent momentarily, making Arthur regret asking over the phone instead of in person where he could see the other man’s face while they spoke. Eames in his own way was quite expressive, good at masking his voice but not his eyes. “No...I don’t mind,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Not that I have much cause to; we were just screwing around...right?”

Arthur nodded, gripping the wheel harder when he felt the car listing to the right. “Sorry, I’ve just never done this before...what we have, you know? We’re still friends, right?” He swallowed down the lump in his throat, caught off guard by the emotion which washed over him at the prospect of losing Eames.

Eames made this breathy hum, his voice going low and thick. “I don’t think it’s much of a secret that you’re my best mate, Arthur. I’m happy with whatever I can get, but don’t feel you have to hold yourself back on my account. We had some fun but it wasn’t anything serious.”

Arthur’s question was on the tip of his tongue, unsure if he wanted to open this particular can of worms but needing to know the answer. “Did you want something more?” His chest felt tight as he waited for the answer, the uncertainty of not knowing which he preferred to hear making him even more nervous. 

“I mean maybe,” Eames said, voice somewhat unsteady. “In some ways yes, but I haven’t really ever played the field or properly dated a man before, and you’ve got this potential relationship...I mean if for some reason it didn’t work out with this guy, and I was still single I’d be up to give it a shot-” Eames trailed off warily, and Arthur knew he was holding something back. 

“But...,” Arthur offered. 

“But you’re a smart guy,” Eames said in a rush. “You’ve got so much potential and deserve more than a convicted felon who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing with himself or his life.”

Arthur sighed, feeling guilt at the words but not surprised they were said. “Eames I - I don’t think that way.” And he felt terrible because he’d had those very reservations himself. Eames still wasn’t his normal type; he didn’t go for tattoos and Eames’ were terrible, Eames style of dress wasn’t to Arthur’s general tastes, but Eames was such a great guy. If Arthur could thank his current situation for anything, it would be for giving him this chance to grow beyond his petty particulars. 

“You’re a sweet guy, Arthur,” Eames said, voice warm. “Never thought that was something I’d say to you, but you really are.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Of shut up, you idiot,” he chided, blinking back the heat behind his eyes. “I mean it’s not like this guy is guaranteed to work out, I just didn’t want to hurt you...you’re sure you don’t mind if I try it out?”

“You have my blessing, darling. I hope he’s everything you’re looking for. Just don’t forget old Eames, now.”

“Never,” Arthur said, wishing he felt better about the whole thing. “Are we running this weekend?”

Eames groaned. “My knees hurt for days after last time. Can’t we just go to the gym? If you make me run you can’t be sprinting for a fucking mile like last time.”

“Maybe you should just push yourself harder,” Arthur snarked. 

Eames snorted. “So tell me more about this guy.”

“His name is Michael,” Arthur said, some of his previous excitement creeping back. “Our initial conversation lasted all of five minutes but I got a good feeling. I think he’s Irish, and he’s built but not as big of you. He’s got great taste though.”

“You sly fox, how’d you snare him?”

“Underwear department, he found me looking at thongs and struck up a conversation.”

“Ah,” Eames said. “So it’s your brains then.”

“We had a moment,” Arthur corrected. “Going for dinner and drinks tomorrow.”

“Where’s he taking you then?”

“He said he’d text me the name, but I don’t know yet.” Arthur glanced down at his phone to make sure he hadn’t missed any texts. “I told him I was a dancer, but it still feels fantastic to have a guy show interest in when he’s not watching me dry hump a pole onstage.”

Arthur parked in front of his apartment, feeling a rush of victory at taking the last spot before the asshole tenant below him with the white SUV. 

“Well if he’s worth his salt he’ll fall head over heels.” Eames said. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you at work Friday, right?”

“Of course,” Arthur said. “I’ll even consider giving you your sweatpants back.”

Eames chuckled. “Keep them,” he said. “They look good on you. Plus I could actually afford to get more, finally.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Arthur looked down at his phone, unsure of how to feel. His thumb hovered over Michael’s folder, on the cusp of texting that he was sorry, but he was going to have to cancel. He realized he would have if Eames asked him to, but the other man hadn’t. Eames had let him go, so Arthur pressed the power button on his phone and pocketed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! Arthur/Eames shippers, don't fret. ;)


	9. Eames

Eames

Eames’ efforts to remain positive were becoming increasingly strained as he received another phone call that the apartment he’d looked at had been let to someone else. By now, what he really heard was “like we’d even consider renting to some thug with a felony record” even though he was certain that wasn’t the case. The record was only one of the things he had stacked against him. Considering he had no credit, no rental history, and a job which paid in cash, Eames still got excited when he was considered at all. 

He’d been humbled by what he could afford early on, already knowing he wouldn’t be getting into any nice complex with underground parking and a personal gym. That wasn’t in any foreseeable budget at this point in his life, and since then Eames had already lowered his modest expectations even further. Thanks to Craigslist, he’d found a small handful of possibilities but those were dwindling fast. Not to mention that the staggering amount of false advertisements were most disheartening. He’d gone to visit one rental which in the picture had nice woodwork and clean paint only to find cracked walls and rotting ceilings. 

Eames had started calling Arthur to ask him to check over listings before he paid the application fees. Arthur had glanced at a few addresses and told him not to even bother, that the place was either a crack den or close to being condemned. 

Eames wished he’d branched out more in his misspent youth, he barely knew the city he’d lived in over 10 years. After his parents had moved across the pond with Eames and his sister in tow, Eames had rarely strayed from their new neighborhood. His friends were fellow neighborhood rats who migrated from one mate’s house to the next, sticking to their comfort zones, even when they started experimenting with breaking the law. Probably why they’d been caught so easily at the start of it, in retrospect. 

Bless his heart, Arthur never seemed to mind the barrage of questions and slew of e-mails sent from Eames’ shiny new phone wrought with misspellings from fingers too thick for the tiny touchscreen keys. Arthur humored him every time, even when Eames got drunk one night and bombarded the other man’s phone with ridiculous selfies he took while playing with the camera feature. 

“You should attach that to resumes,” Arthur replied to one which featured the bulge in Eames’ new electric blue briefs. “It sure will set you apart from the other applicants.”

Eames tried to make some witty reply about appreciating Arthur’s condescension, but couldn’t spell the word and finally just went with “;D”

Arthur had been perfectly lovely through the whole ordeal, the best friend Eames could have ever hoped for, and more than anything it made Eames question whether he’d made a huge mistake in telling Arthur he hadn’t wanted more. Arthur had been seeing Michael for a few weeks now, and while he was still there as a friend, Eames felt him slipping away. Par for the fucking course that Eames had missed his golden opportunity with the best guy he’d likely ever come across. He’d gone so far as to log onto an online dating site to browse some local guys, but even then he found himself comparing every guy to Arthur, even the ones who were more Eames’ usual type.

Not that much had really changed, other than the sex. They still hung out at Arthur’s apartment, and still went running or to the bar after work, but then Arthur would get a text from Michael or mention him offhandedly and Eames was reminded that they weren’t alone in this together anymore. He’d get whatever he could though, as long as he could.

Eames hauled his phone out, tapping the ‘messaging’ icon and pressed Arthur’s name. “Another rental bust, get drunk 2nite?”

His phone quickly buzzed in response. “Again? Why now? No work?”

Eames sighed; it would take for-fucking-ever to type the entire response, so instead he just pressed the call button. 

“No work tonight,” he said when Arthur picked up. “Brendan wanted an extra shift. As for the rental, they just gave the usual bullshit ‘we accepted another applicant’ blah blah blah. I’m over it...want to drown yourself in a bottle of tequila?” 

“Yours or mine?” Arthur asked, a question which made by anyone else at the current time might have earned them a punch to the face, which the little sod well knew. 

“Cheeky fucker,” Eames said. “Yours, unless you fancy sneaking in through a window and hiding in the basement next to the dryer.”

“Is the belt still broken?” Arthur asked.

“No, I fixed that last week finally. Aaron said he’d do it but he’d been saying that for two months and I just couldn’t take it anymore.” Eames’ brother in law said a lot of things which never came to fruition, a quality he couldn’t help but find amusing as it was something Tallulah had always hated Eames for growing up. 

“And I bet Tallulah was appreciative and gracious as always,” Arthur said dryly, his eye roll practically audible.

“She didn’t say a word, even when she came down to run a load and I was installing the damn thing.”

Things had been a little extra tense in the house after Tallulah came downstairs the one and only time Arthur came over and snuck in. Eames had been having a terrible night and Aaron had needed the truck, so he’d called Arthur and asked him to come over as a favor. Arthur had, bringing his laptop and some vodka so they could watch a movie and drown their frustrations. Eames’ head had been resting on Arthur’s lap when she came down the stairs with a basket of clothes, and despite the innocence of the situation Tallulah had put one and one together, and it equalled gay. She hadn’t said a word, but the next day there was a pencil written note on the table addressed for Eames, wherein she’d said that in their living arrangement, Eames shouldn’t feel comfortable enough to invite his “little friend” over without permission. 

Instead of feeling contrite as he had before, Eames just felt angry. He’d done everything possible to cater to her and adhere to her every rule, and he realized now it would never amount to anything. His determination to move out had only increased twofold, and bless his heart Arthur had no problem having Eames crash at his place when he could couldn’t face going home. 

“Want to come over tonight?” Arthur asked, right on cue. “I was going to meet up with Michael tonight, but there’s some emergency at work.”

“Again?” Eames asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. Sure, Arthur liked the guy, but it seemed like Michael had an odd amount of emergency meetings for someone in finance. “You still never been to his place?”

Arthur groaned. “No...do you think it’s weird? I mean my place is close to his office, but he doesn’t even want to show me his place.”

“Maybe he’s a hoarder,” Eames suggested, tongue playing at the side of his mouth in smug satisfaction. “Keeps all of his toenail clippings in jars, or has fifty cats.”

“His clothes are always so clean though,” Arthur protested. “A lint roller can only do so much.”

Eames sighed, laying back on his lumpy mattress. “Just keep at it, darling. You want me to pick up something for dinner?”

Arthur hummed, the sound warming Eames’ gut. “Surprise me,” he said. “I’m up for anything.”

 

Eames was on route to Arthur’s apartment when he caught sight of a “room for rent” sign above a hardware store in the old part of town. He quickly pulled the truck over, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he looked back at the building. It looked like a shit hole, but at this point anything was better than his sister’s basement. With any luck, the owner wouldn’t be too picky, so Eames pulled the keys out of the ignition and prayed to whomever might be listening. 

He hauled himself out of the truck, straightening his jacket and double checking that he wore a long sleeve shirt to cover his tattoos. The hardware store was an older shop, independently owned from the look of it and the location. A bell chimed as he entered, immediately catching the attention of an older man whom Eames guessed was the owner. Behind the counter was a kid who looked to be his teenaged son. 

“Can i help you?” the kid asked with the disinterest of a teenager working in a family store. 

“Yeah,” Eames thumbed back to the front door. “I saw there was a room for rent....do I talk to you, or is there someone I should call who owns the building?”

“I own the building” the older man said, stepping forward and looking down at Eames through the glasses perched on the end of his nose. “You looking to rent it?”

Eames nodded. 

The man waved his son away. “What’s your name?”

“Eames.”

“Well, Eames, I’m Jim...I don’t know what you were looking for, but it’s not much. I was honestly expecting to rent it to some college kid.”

“I uh...don’t need much.” Eames said, wiping at he side of his nose, knowing from the severe look on the older man’s face that he should tread carefully. “My options are a bit limited.”

The Jim’s eyes narrowed. “Bad credit, or a record?”

Eames sighed. “I made some mistakes..but am out of it now. Been living with my sister and her family but just really need my own space. I’m quiet, don’t smoke...I’ve only really got one friend right now so you don’t have to worry about parties.”

“He got a record too?” Jim asked, sounding unimpressed. 

Eames shook his head. “He’s a teacher,” he said, comfortable with the half truth. 

Jim relaxed, his face losing some of its initial hardness. He crossed his arms over his chest, studying Eames with a scrutiny Eames had become all too familiar with in prior run in’s with cops. 

“I’ll be honest, wouldn’t normally consider someone with a background...but you’re the first bite I’ve had in months.” Jim’s eyes narrowed as he looked Eames over. “You got a steady job?”

Eames nodded, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he stood tall before the older man’s scrutiny. 

“And you’re on the straight and narrow now? Don’t waste my time by lying now, son.”

Eames nodded, holding onto the older man’s gaze. “I just want to get on with my life,” he said. “Not many places will give me that chance.”

Jim sighed, his dark eyes darting back and forth across Eames’ face, looking for any sign of guile. “Could you pass a drug test right now?” Jim asked. “I got some kits for my boy there; he’s hanging with a bunch of losers and I’m trying to keep him off your route, if you know what I mean.”

Eames glanced over to the kid in time to see him roll his eyes, eyes widening in juvenile frustration. 

“You pass that test and I’ll show you the place, that sound fair big guy?”

Eames shrugged. It was a bit humiliating, but nothing he couldn’t handle if it meant he’d finally get out of the basement. After all, it wasn’t like the man was having him turn his head and cough… “Why not,” he said with a resigned sigh.

Jim looked pleased with himself. “The room’s five fifty a month, cable and any of that is on you. You give me your info and the numbers for your references and I’ll get the kit. You just piss in a cup, it’s real easy.” He handed Eames a piece of paper and pen before heading towards the back of the shop.

Eames glanced over at the kid, who was taking a break from messing with his phone to watch his dad walk away. As soon as his father was out of earshot, the kid leaned over. “It actually works, dude...He busted me three months ago and makes me take one randomly like he’s my fucking parole officer.” 

Eames scoffed, leaning down to write on the provided paper. “Trust me kid, it’s better than having a real one.”

The teen rolled his eyes before going back to his phone. “Whatever, man.”

By the time Jim returned, Eames was done, double checking to make sure everything was right. He held the cup out, the transparent plastic revealing multi colored strips inside. Eames glanced at it sidelong, brow quirked in question. 

“Tests for eleven different substances,” Jim said, his bushy mustache puffing out as he pursed his lips with pride. “Only takes about five minutes to work. You done?”

Eames nodded, handing the man the paper. 

Jim glanced it over. “Tallulah...not a name you hear everyday. And Arthur. I’ll be calling them if the test clears.” He handed Eames the cup and pointed to the rear of the store. “John’s back there. Just leave it on the sink when you’re done, right?”

Eames nodded, raising the cup in salute. He was no stranger to peeing in cups, and therefore not as hung up as he probably should have been. He filled the cup, chuckling to himself that this was the first time he actually didn’t have to worry about passing. He set the cup down as instructed, washed his hands, and opened the bathroom door. Jim was standing there, so close to the door he had to have been listening. The man nodded to Eames as he passed, moving into the small bathroom. After quickly checking the trashcan, he wrapped a paper towel around the cup and lifted it. “Want to have a look around while you wait?”

Eames nodded. He roamed the aisles of the small store, thumbing idly through samples of door handles and different spools of rope. He finally hauled out his phone and quickly typed ‘gonna be late, may have news’ to Arthur. He got a swift response of ‘I need u2 wax my asshole again.’ Eames bit his tongue in an effort not to laugh out loud in the otherwise quiet store, glancing back down when the phone buzzed again. ‘What news?’

“Tell u 2nite” he replied, pocketing the phone when he heard footsteps approaching. He turned to see Jim, the man wiping his hands on a paper towel. 

Eames raised his brows in expectation. 

“All clear” Jim said, tossing the paper towel in the trash. “Want to go have a look at the space?”

Eames nodded, feeling a rush of excitement that the tides were finally fucking changing.


	10. Arthur

Arthur had thought Eames was just being dramatic when he’d said the place was a shithole, but he really needed to stop underestimating Eames’ accuracy of description. The place was a shithole. It was a decent size, to be sure, but everything was moldy, peeling, odd smelling, or rusty. He was about to turn to Eames and tell him he was completely out of his fucking mind, but when he finally saw the other man, Eames was glowing. Positively fucking beaming. Eames stood there with his thick arms crossed over his chest, his wide grin showing off his crooked teeth at the pride in having a place to finally call his own and Arthur’s heart just melted. 

“A little paint and some lime away and you’ll be pretty well set,” Arthur said instead, mindful to keep a safe distance from any surfaces. “You’ve got lots of light in here, it’s nice and bright.”

Eames was nodding but probably only half listening. He moved to Arthur and put a warm hand at the small of his back, guiding him about. “Kitchen has a dishwasher, the latch is a bit testy but it seems to work alright. Over here’s the bedroom.”

The bedroom reeked of cat piss, and it took everything in Arthur not to gag and walk right out. The color was some wretched shade of tan yellowed by what had to be cigarette smoke, and the closet was missing a door. Actually, the door was there, but off it’s hinges and resting inside the closet. There were suspicious brown stains smeared down the wall, it looked like old vomit but could really have been anything. Either way it was completely revolting. 

“Yeah it needs a bit of cleaning up,” The landlord, Jim, said from behind them. “The last tenant partied a little too hard.” 

Arthur turned to him, his arms crossing over his chest into what Eames had coined his ‘bitch mode’ when he saw the self satisfied leer on the man’s face. 

“But I think it will serve your friend rather well. It’s a good first step to get him back on his feet.”

Eames was fiddling with the window, trying to get it open, completely oblivious to Arthur’s irritation. “If I could get this and a few others open, we could get a cross breeze and freshen it up a bit.” He tossed an ever cheerful grin back to Arthur before gently beating his fist against the window pane, working it open inch by creaky inch. 

Arthur looked around the place and felt a cold rage wash over him as he recalled the phone-call he had with Jim the other day when the man called for a reference. The older man had kept dragging the point that he needed a tenant who was going to respect that place, that Eames wasn’t his ideal choice but he supposed he could give him a chance. For the good samaritan the man played at, he must have thanked the heavens when Eames came his way. Arthur had seen it plenty of times before, a landlord taking advantage of their upper hand when a tenant was down on their luck. 

After taking a discreet breath, Arthur excused himself and waved Jim over with a finger, indicating the front door. He didn’t stop until they were on outside on the landing, right in front of the stairs which led to the car park. 

“Something wrong?” Jim asked, and Arthur could just imagine his thin lips smirking under that ridiculous mustache. 

“I don’t know what you’re playing at,” Arthur bit out, his arms crossed. “But I’ve seen slums in better shape than this. I’m already telling you that he’s not paying five fifty a month for this place.”

Jim’s face hardened at the finality in Arthur’s tone, his shoulders canting forward aggressively. While his general demeanor remained calm, Arthur could tell he was meant to feel intimidated. This little display however only stoked his ire further. 

“Well, that’s the price we agreed on,” the older man said, voice positively dripping in self righteousness. “And it’s the price my renter will pay. This is a prime location and-”

“Spare me,” Arthur cut in. “The place is falling apart and smells like cat piss. It’s going to need to be gutted and repainted before it’s anywhere near up to code. Do you seriously think this place would be considered habitable if inspected by the city?”

Jim shifted again, hesitating before speaking. “I couldn’t say for certain, no.”

“I thought as much.” Arthur glanced back inside to make sure Eames wasn’t listening. “This may be his first apartment, but it isn’t mine. He’s not going to pay you more than three fifty a month-“

“Now you wait just a minute.” Jim took another step forwards, his hands going to his hips and bushy eyebrows knitting. 

Arthur held up a hand. “Three Fifty is the max or we walk. Plus his first month is free, seeing as we’re going to need to do some major renovations before he can even move in. I’m being more than generous here. This way you get a tenant in a place you shouldn’t legally be able to accept rent for, and after we fix it up you can rent it out next time for even more than your original five fifty.”

Jim stepped back, seemingly processing this little agreement. It was clear the man was warring with the desire to tell Arthur to fuck off, and the fact that he knew Arthur was right about all of it. It was a solid minute before he spoke again. “I thought you were a teacher, now a lawyer.”

Arthur snorted, the words ‘actually I’m a stripper’ on the tip of his tongue, but he knew why Eames had said what he did. “Do we have a deal?” he asked instead. 

Jim nodded warily. “I suppose so, yeah.”

Arthur took another step forward, pleased when Jim seemed eager to back away from him. “He also told me about the test you made him take. That little piss cup routine was the first and last, am I understood?”

Jim certainly wasn’t smirking behind that salt and pepper mustache any more. 

Arthur opened the door, tossing “and I want it in writing” over his shoulder before stepping back inside the shabby apartment. 

Eames was in the bathroom, picking at the scum around the faucet with a fingernail. He glanced up when he heard Arthur. “Everything ok?” 

Arthur nodded. “Great news, your rent is now three fifty.”

Eames’ face shot up, his brows crawling into his hairline. “Christ, Arthur, did you blow him?”

“Please, if I’d have blown him he’d pay you to live here,” Arthur deadpanned. “The first month is free, too.” 

Eames all but croaked. “So….you did blow him.”

Arthur shoved at him, feeling his previous anger melt away. “He’s gonna draft a lease too, make sure you go over it before signing anything.”

Eames grinned up at him, and the devilish look in his eyes actually shot a tremor of lust through Arthur. “You are an animal,” he purred in reverence, thick lips pursing. 

Arthur finally couldn’t hold back the chuckle, pushing Eames away when the big man kept giving him that look. “Idiot,” he chided fondly. “How about you order some Chinese and I’ll grab some cleaning supplies downstairs...if we start soon I bet we can get the bathroom clean tonight.”

For such a bear of a man, Eames had the uncanny ability to look like a shy puppy when he wanted to. “Arthur,” he said, sounding almost shy. “You don’t have to help do that, I just wanted to show you the place.” The look he gave was so earnest, Arthur was overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him.

“I know,” He finally said, forcing himself to look away from Eames’ ridiculously full lips. “That’s why you’re buying me Chinese food.” He glanced down at where Eames’ fingers were still scratching at the sink. “And for christ sake stop touching that nasty thing without gloves...I’ll get a box of those too.”

To his credit, Jim gave Arthur a discount on the supplies. It took several trips to haul everything up the narrow back staircase but soon he was finally in gloves and forcing a face mask onto Eames, who was eyeing him incredulously but allowing it. They stripped the shower curtain and bath mats from the bathroom and the curtains from the bedroom and living room and tossed them down into the store’s dumpster in the back alley. They talked about ripping up the carpets, but Eames wanted to get permission first. 

They ended up in the bathroom with cleaners, scrub brushes, and towels laid out at the ready on the floor. Throughout the prep process, Arthur had to keep lowering Eames’ mask back down over his mouth, huffing every time he saw it once again atop Eames’ head.

“Seriously, Arthur, have you ever seen a prison cell before, even on TV? There’s nothing in this place I didn’t breathe daily there...except maybe the cat piss.” 

“There are colonies growing in the bathtub, Eames. Colonies,” Arthur enunciated the word clearly before handing Eames a bottle of Bleach and a bottle of lime away. 

He was about to pick up his own squirt bottle and brush when his phone buzzed in his back pocket. Arthur pulled it out and saw he had a new message from Michael. His face heated as he realized that the two of them were supposed to get together almost an hour ago. 

‘Are we not getting together tonight then?’ the text read.

Arthur quickly looked over at Eames, thankful that the man’s back was turned to him. He knew Eames would feel bad, and didn’t want to spoil his good mood. Hell Arthur should feel bad, but in the moment was too happy for his friend to let his slip up bother him much. He quickly typed out ‘so sorry babe, got caught up. I’ll make it up to you. Deluxe blowjob?’

He waited a moment before he received a ‘that would only be fair ;)’ in response, and quickly tucked his phone away. Eames’ face mask was already on the top of his head again, but he was happily scrubbing the stains in the tub so Arthur didn’t reprimand him. He instead stood on the rim of the tub and banged on the window until it finally opened. The air which seeped in was cool on his face, crisp and clean and much appreciated. 

Arthur was impressed with the dedication with which Eames worked. He knew the man was no slouch, but had never quite seen him in this light. He didn’t complain once, making jokes as he went and had Arthur laughing along with him as they worked through the bathroom. It wasn’t perfect, but it was much better. It was late by the time they called it quits, both decided it wasn’t worth continuing without a vacuum and mop. Eames insisted that Arthur didn’t need to come back, that what he’d done so far was more than enough. Arthur didn’t do things by halves though, and if he was honest, he enjoyed the tedious work and the sense of accomplishment which came along with it. Instead he merely replied with “I know some good thrift shops, just to start you off.”

Eames gave him this look, the expression softer than his usual smirk. Arthur found himself unnerved by it, standing stock still even when Eames leaned forward and gently kissed the corner of his mouth. He looked up at Eames with furrowed brows. “What was that for?”

Eames shrugged. “You...being you. You’re so controlling darling, but it’s quite endearing.”

Arthur flushed, huffing through his nose and mumbled that Eames was being ridiculous. He patted Eames’ cheek, trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach which certainly didn’t belong there. 

When Arthur left Eames’ place, he called Michael. A quick glance at the clock told him it was way past the hour the other man preferred to leave his place, especially as he lived outside of town in a neighboring suburb, but Arthur wanted to see him. More accurately, Eames was under his skin, and Arthur worried he wouldn’t be able to get him back out again. 

Michael’s phone rang twice before cutting to voicemail. Arthur sighed, waiting for the away message to end so he could leave a message. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and tired. “Sorry again about tonight...I know it’s late, but I want to see you. Think I can stop by? I know how you are about your place, but I’ll make it up to you in the morning, I swear; with an omelette...a blowjob, maybe.” He smiled to himself, biting his lower lip. “Anyways I’m driving now, call me back? I just don’t want to be home alone tonight.”

Arthur’s phone buzzed and he glanced down to see Michael’s name flash across the screen. He slid his finger to accept, raising the phone to his ear. ‘Hey, I was just leaving you a message.”

“Sorry, I was in the middle of something when you called.” Michael’s voice was low, so soft Arthur checked the volume on his phone. “Everything alright? It’s pretty late.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, and this is a real dick move after blowing you off tonight, but is there any chance I could come over? I really don’t want to be alone tonight-”

“Um-” Michael’s end was muffled, his voice still somewhat hushed as he continued. “I’m really sorry, darling, but I don’t think I can tonight. I’ve got an early meeting in the morning. How about I come by your place tomorrow and take you out for dinner?”

Arthur worried at his lip, pulling the car to the side of the road before he had to get onto the freeway to head home. “I wont keep you up, I promise,” he said. “I’ll make you coffee in the morning, hmm? I just miss you.”

Michael sighed. “Poor baby. You have a bad day?”

“No, I just wanted to see you,” Arthur replied, his prior playfulness bleeding out from his tone. He and Michael rarely got a chance to see each other with their conflicting schedules, and lately it seemed that all they did was meet up to have sex. Not that it wasn’t good sex...Michael was a a bit bigger than Arthur would normally prefer, and while he didn’t always have the patience to warm Arthur up properly and had a few kinks Arthur wasn’t quite thrilled about, he never left him unsatisfied. Arthur had even discovered he really enjoyed being spanked, something he’d previously never tried simply because he’d found the concept completely ridiculous. Michael was usually only too happy to indulge when Arthur brought up sex, but not this time.

“I can’t tonight, Arthur.” Michael said, his voice tense yet tired. “Tomorrow though, anywhere you want.”

“I work tomorrow,” Arthur replied. “And Saturday.”

“Well maybe I’ll come see you at work,” Michael said, voice still low but now playful. “I’d love to see you dance.”

Arthur’s throat tense, a stone of nausea settling at the pit of his stomach. “You know I don’t want you coming to my job,” he said, leaving no room for discussion. “I just don’t want you seeing me like that, it’s not who I am and not how I want you to think of me.”

“Well it is what you do, my dear.” Michael drawled. “Maybe I can stop by afterwards and give you a massage like last time...you know, the internal one-” Michael cut himself off, something muffling the receiver on his end once more, the noise making Arthur pull the phone from his ear with a grimace. 

“Sorry babe,” Michael said quickly. “Just saw the time, really have to get going or I’ll never make it through that bloody meeting. Just text me and let me know when you’re free...my treat.”

“Alright,” Arthur sighed, brows scrunched with a displeased frown.

“You’re the best,” Michael said huskily. “Night love, be sure to text me.” The line clicked as Michael hung up. Arthur tossed his phone onto the seat beside him, begrudgingly pulling the car out towards the freeway.


	11. Eames

Eames

 

Eames knew it was ridiculous to get this excited about bath towels, but really couldn’t quite help himself. He’d painted the bathroom what he called Lavender and Arthur called “Gay ass Periwinkle.” Arthur told him it was a ridiculous choice which a grown man should really feel ashamed of, to which Eames responded that the opinion of a man whose apartment was all varying shades of grey didn’t and shouldn’t matter. He knew he’d likely have to repaint when the time came to move out, but for now he was revelling in the fact he was able to make such decisions for his own place. Not to mention that after several years of staring at white or cement walls in prison, Eames was thrilled to have a little color around him. 

He was now holding a pistachio green towel and a buttery yellow towel, squinting hard in his concentration as he attempted to imagine them hanging in the bathroom. The green was closer to the color in the bedroom, but would that be too much matching? He’d loved the burnt orange towels but was sure Arthur would burn them the first chance he got. After all the nights Arthur let Eames crash at his place, he couldn’t bring himself to assault his friend’s eyes to such a degree, no matter how lovely the color. He ended up tossing the green towels into his cart, but grabbed a few cream ones as well to soften the blow. 

In his ever aware peripheral vision, Eames noticed a figure came to stop beside him, a little too far from the racks to be looking at towels. He stood still, trying not to look over when the man stepped even closer, standing facing him in a manner which couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a desired confrontation. Eames tensed, hardening himself for whatever this person wanted. His eyes slid carefully over to the man, barely locking on before Eames found himself frozen in surprise. 

Fucking Mumbles, his best friend from high school stood before him, arms open. Memories flooded back to Eames in such a rush that he stood there for a good minute gaping like an idiot, Mumbles’ arms flexing to him in want of a hug. 

“Still handsome as ever, you cheeky fucker.”

Eames shook his head to clear it, an unruly smile breaking across his face. “Oh my days, how are you, mate?” He accepted the embrace, appreciating the bulk of Mumbles against him in a way which made him feel nineteen all over again. He looked damn good, the years very kind and the scruff adorning the man’s face looking incredibly sexy. .

“Never thought I’d see old Handsome Bob again...when was the last time, before you got sent up from that east side job?”

“Going by Eames, now,” Eames said quickly, darting around even though he was sure no one else would know or care what they were saying. “Bob’s in the past...never liked my first name anyways.” 

“Is that so.” Mumbles rested his hands on his hips, eyes raking over Eames in a manner he wouldn’t have dared back when they were still running around town together with the boys. He and Mumbles had fooled around quite a bit back then, and had done a brilliant job hiding it as they both knew with absolute certainty that if anyone had found out, even their other friends, they’d have been dragged in a second. They never were that close of friends, so when Eames got sent down on his first two year stretch they eventually drifted apart. 

“Well seeing as we’ve both moved on a bit, I’m actually back to Idris now. Working in a bank if you can believe it.” He flashed Eames that devilish smile which had made his knees weak when they were kids. They were stronger now, but apparently not immune. “They’ve got me in the loans department.”

“How did you manage that?” Eames asked conspiratorily. “Pretty sure we ran jobs on most of them back in the day.”

Mumbles - no Idris - laughed, rubbing his stubbled chin. “Yeah...lucky for me I never caught a felony like you did; got a misdemeanor but that was back in highschool, so I had it expunged.”

Idris had been the first of them to start a rap sheet, but he’d always been a clever boy and after his first few harmless tussles had gotten much better at not getting caught. Eames however had been cocky and reckless, and caught harsher charges. Idris also never touched the drugs, avoiding all the mess involved with such matters as well. 

“You look good,” Idris said, taking a step closer. “You’ve filled out, my boy!” He reached forward and wrapped a broad hand about Eames’ bicep, squeezing just a bit. He flashed those white teeth Eames had always found so irresistible. He’d always figured Idris would eventually move on and get with girls again, but if the look the man was giving him now was any indication, he was still thusly inclined. 

“Last I heard you were vacationing with the state...when did you get out?”

“Almost six months ago,” he said. Eames was grateful to not feel the usual embarrassment with such a question, to know Idris had seen him at his lowest and still accepted him. He loved that he didn’t have to explain anything, that there was no momentary look of panic or judgement in the other man’s eyes. “I was living with ‘Lula but just got my own place...being a proper grownup and all, buying bath towels.” He indicated the contents of his card, which Idris promptly glanced down at. 

“Don’t know mate,” the other man said. “Proper adults usually buy matching sets.”

Eames laughed, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Fuck off yeah, my house my towels.” He pushed his sleeves up his forearms, feeling warm. 

“You working?” Idris asked. 

Eames nodded. “Working the door at this club Fisch, you heard of it?”

Idris coughed, his eyebrows shooting up and hand raising to cover his grin. “Uh….yeah, I heard of that one. Can’t say I’ve been there though...never quite got the courage. I like my bars small and a bit more….discreet.” He crossed his arms over his chest, actually looking a bit impressed as he asked Eames “how do you like it, then?”

Eames shrugged, scratching at the back of his head. “It’s a job...kind of nice to be around like-minded individuals, though I spend most of my time freezing my ass off outside on a stool. I help behind the bar sometimes if things are slammed...certainly nothing glamorous.”

“You seeing anyone, then?” Idris asked, his tone casual but eyes fixed as he waited for an answer. “They must be fawning over a big guy like you.”

Eames opened his mouth, Arthur’s name on the tip of his tongue before he remembered that Arthur was with Michael. They’d been so close lately working in his place, and their company was so comfortable, Eames almost had forgotten about the other man. “No,” he finally said. “I get hit on, but not really seen anyone who strikes my fancy. How about you?”

“I was seeing someone,” Idris said, the word “someone” somewhat hushed. “But that ended a few months ago. It was mutual though, he wanted a bit more than I was ready to give. I keep my private life private, and he didn’t.”

Eames could certainly understand. He was only comfortable being out and open because he’d completely started over, not having to explain anything to anyone from his former life. If his transition to adulthood hadn’t been so ruptured, he could imagine still feeling the need for discretion. 

“Back on the prowl, then?” Eames asked. 

“I suppose so,” Idris said, licking his lower lip. 

Eames reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. “We should get a drink some time, give us your number?”

Idris was only too happy to oblige, dictating the number aloud and checking it when Eames was done. He took Eames’ as well, smiling as he pocketed it. “I’m expecting a call, now,” he said, low voice pure velvet. “Don’t go disappearing on me.”

“Perish the thought,” Eames said with a wink. “See you around.”

Idris saluted him, pushing his phone back into his pocket before sauntering off. Eames couldn’t help but sneak a few glances as he watched him leave, his stomach fluttering with excitement. Idris had been one of his first crushes, and was pretty much the blueprint for his current preferred type. He never in a million years would have imagined he’d see the man again, the whole situation still a bit surreal. 

When Eames turned on his phone again, he couldn’t help but smile at the new contact. He immediately scrolled to Arthur’s name, opening a new text message. “Ran into an old friend, think he still fancies me,” he typed, thumb hovering with hesitation over the send key. He wondered if he should tell Arthur, not that he thought Arthur would be upset, but because he didn’t want the other man to think he’d moved on. Then again, isn’t that what he was trying to do? Maybe this was what he needed to get Arthur out of his system finally, simplify their friendship and let them go on just being good mates. He pressed send, still unsure but also wanting to share his excitement with the one person he knew would be happy for him. 

Arthur called him later that night, voice warm as he asked about Idris. He listened attentively while Eames spoke with great animation about their teenage years, about sneaking around in parks and giving each other hand jobs in cars Eames had boosted. He’d never given Arthur specifics before about some of his previous misdeeds, and for someone as upstanding as Arthur, he took it in stride. 

“So….are you going to call him?” Arthur finally asked. 

Eames sighed, laying back with a heavy sigh onto the cheap but comfy bedsheets he’d purchased a few days ago. He let his fingers play over his chest, staring at the once again white ceiling. “I think so...I mean I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I feel like a fucking kid again.”

“Do you think-” Arthur cut himself off, static on the line as he huffed into the phone. 

“What?” Eames asked. 

“Do you think this is a good idea?” Arthur finally asked. “I mean you said he’s by the book now, but you’re not going to delve back into your old habits-”

Again he stopped, and Eames found himself waiting for Arthur to finish his thought, his chest tight with the anticipation of it. 

“Don’t get me wrong, you’ve been doing great, and I’m not really an expert with stuff like this, but I just don’t want you going back with someone who was a negative influence and blow your last chance.” Arthur sounded so sincere, yet almost timid, which caught Eames off guard. He was used to Arthur being fierce, used to his sarcasm and wit. He could tell Arthur was trying not to offend him, and was surprised by the amount of concern in the other man’s voice.

“I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” Arthur said. 

“I’ll be careful, darling, I promise,” Eames said, voice soft. 

“Shit” Arthur said, more rustling from his side. “Sorry, I’ve got to get ready for work. Do you want to do the living room floors this weekend? If I rent that power sander, I bet we could get it stained the same day.”

Eames chuckled, covering his eyes with his palm. “Really Arthur, I’m already so far indebted to you…I won't have you wasting another weekend working on my place.”

“It’s no trouble,” Arthur said, his voice echoing. “Sorry, I’ve got you on speaker so I can get changed. Besides, I work this weekend, so it’s already wasted.”

“You’re not working and then coming to sand my floors,” Eames countered defiantly. “Besides, I’d rather have you over to ooh and ahh over the finished product.”

Arthur snorted. “If anyone’s indebted here, it’s Jim. He doesn’t deserve the work you’ve put into that place.”

“Now don’t be too harsh, he actually deducted labor costs from my rent next month. I think you scared him into compliance…”

“Well I am terrifying,” Arthur said, voice sounding back to normal. “I’ve got to go, but just - fuck, just be careful, ok? Just promise me you’re going to be smart with this guy; old crushes are great but he needs to be good enough.”

Eames gazed up at the ceiling, free arm falling to rest above his head. “Don’t worry about me, love,” he said. "I'll be careful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to get to parts which have gaps between them, writing new filler chapters such as this to go between them. Some big stuff coming for Arthur, so get ready! ;)


	12. Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, had a spot of writer's block and re-wrote this like 4 times. Next update will be sooner as the chapter is pretty much done. Thanks to those still reading!

Arthur

Arthur really didn’t want to believe that the high pitched whimper of surprised delight had actually emitted from his own mouth, but the responding twin slap to his asscheeks which elicited the same response only cemented the fact into horrible reality. Michael groaned low in his throat, the hand pressing on Arthur’s lower back forcing his spine to dip further while the other rubbed the reddened flesh of the younger man’s rump. 

“Yeah, tilt your ass up more...you like that?” 

Arthur could only press his face to the pillow and scream as Michael pistoned into him, gripping him hard by the hips before releasing him to deliver another stinging slap to his ass. Arthur’s hips jerked as he cried out, his shoulders rubbing against the bedding. He was shocked by how his cock twitched at the sting still lingering on his abused flesh. He’d never really been spanked like that before and couldn’t believe how much it turned him on. He’d never been kinky, and had always found spanking to be if not ridiculous then rather degrading. The same couldn’t be said when Michael came on his face the previous week, but the other man had been so excited by it that Arthur hadn’t had the heart to tell him it would be a one time thing. Michael spanked him again, breaking him away from the uncomfortable memory, and Arthur couldn’t help the strangled whine he let out into the pillow. 

“You like that?” Michael hissed through his teeth, rubbing the warmed flesh. “Tell me you like it.”

“Fuck...,” Arthur groaned, mouth open in ungraceful pants against the bedding. “Love it...do it again.” He cried out when Michael’s broad hand clapped against his sore bum. He couldn’t believe the warm tingle each slap shot right to his cock, his hand reaching down between his legs to work at his swollen prick. 

“You like that cock in your ass?” Michael asked, his voice strained from the fast pace he was maintaining. 

Arthur really just wanted the man to shut up, but so long as he kept fucking him he could play along. “Yeah,” he managed. “Keep going, so close...” He fisted the rumpled sheets, spreading his knees further to accommodate Michael and get the angle right, and right it was...Jesus....

With one final slap to his rump, Arthur was cumming hard, panting wetly against the pillow. He felt Michael shudder behind him, his fingers curling painfully in Arthur’s hair before jerking his head back. The Irishman managed a handful of shaky thrusts before he came too, his fingers enclosing his hip and hair in an iron grip. Michael’s breath beat down on Arthur’s sweaty back in hot gusts, their increased intensity signaling his intentions before his mouth lowered to the dip in Arthur’s lower back, then down his hip to the slap-warmed skin of his ass. 

“Pity about the condoms,” Michael said. “I’d love to lick my cum out of you-” He flickered the tip of his tongue over Arthur’s abused hole.

Arthur made a displeased grunt, his arm reaching back blindly to slap at Michael. “That’s disgusting,” he said, face scrunched into a frown when he finally looked back just enough to see the devilish purse of Michael’s lips. 

“Mmmm...” Michael didn’t sound the least bit deterred, spreading Arthur’s cheeks with his thumbs to look at his handiwork. “I can’t help if you have a ridiculously delicious ass, darling.”

Arthur frowned at the familiar endearment, unsure that he liked hearing Eames’ pet name while post coital with Michael. He twisted away from his boyfriend, batting at the man’s attempts to pull him back into position. “You idiot,” he chided. “You’re so gross, get off me.” He pushed Michael’s face away playfully when the man pouted. Michael surged up immediately, caging Arthur with his muscular arms and leaning down to kiss him. Arthur pushed him away, dimples crowning his bright smile as he struggled to look serious and stern. “Oh my god no....Michael no! Don’t you dare try and kiss me after that, go wash your mouth out!” 

Michael leaned over him, wagging his tongue just above Arthur’s face. Arthur’s eyes narrowed, the smile finally fading a bit. “I mean it! Go use some mouthwash, I’m not kissing you after you licked my goddamn asshole.”

Michael sighed, finally releasing Arthur and standing. “Ok, ok,” he grumbled, making for the bathroom. 

Arthur rubbed a hand over his face, grimacing when he looked down at the cooling spunk smeared on his belly before wiping it on the already soiled sheets. He heard the faucet running and the whir of the electric toothbrush Michael kept at his apartment and felt relieved. He didn’t mind indulging in some of Michael’s fantasies, but at some point a line had to be drawn. Sometimes he wondered if Michael had been with more reserved men in the past, and just hadn’t felt comfortable expressing these desires. 

His phone began to buzz on the dresser, catching his attention. Arthur leaned over and saw Eames’ name and a completely ridiculous picture of the man with his hand down his underwear, pursing his thick lips up at the camera. Arthur couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Idiot,” he mumbled fondly. The man must have switched the photo when he’d spent the night last. He slid his thumb across the phone, accepting the call.

“What the hell is that photo, you great lummox?” Arthur asked quietly with a small laugh. “You’re going to get me in trouble with my boyfriend.”

Eames laughed heartily, and Arthur could perfectly imagine the man’s crooked grin on the other end of the line, perfectly pleased with himself. 

“Wondered how long it would take you to find that,” Eames said, his voice rough through the microphone. “Not too surprising though as I’ve been forsaken for your strapping Michael. You’re not really in trouble, are you? Did he see it?”

“No,” Arthur shook his head. “He’s in the bathroom. He’s bring gross though, so I’m keeping the picture on here.”

“You’re so wicked,” Eames purred through the phone, warming Arthur’s belly. “You got a minute? Wanted to tell you all about my night last night, with Idris.”

Arthur’s brows rose, his eyes cutting towards the bathroom to make sure Michael wasn’t watching. “Did you guys have sex?” he asked, his voice pitching in his surprise. He remembered the jealousy which welled up when Eames told him about making out on Idris’ couch, knowing it was unfair and unkind of him not not be excited for his friend who deserved nothing but happiness. He swallowed, a thickness in his throat making it difficult. 

Eames chuckled, the hum he made more of a raspy purr. “We did indeed,” he said. “Been a long time since I bottomed; how the hell do you manage doing that so regularly? New appreciation for you, darling.”

“That’s how I feel about topping,” Arthur mumbled, voice trailing off as he tried to compose himself. “I hate feeling the pressure to perform,” Arthur’s eyes darted up when he saw Michael walking out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Plus I’m super sensitive,” he said, watching Michael saunter towards him, a confident pleased glint in his eye before he flopped down onto the bed. He ran fingers idly up Arthur’s chest, and Arthur tried not to look too sour as he slapped his hand away, indicating the phone with raised brows. Michael chuckled, relenting only so much as to drop his hand to the young man’s lean thigh. 

“I’ll bottom from time to time,” Eames continued. “But it’s not my first choice. I will say though, he was quite accommodating.”

“So are you guys together now, officially?” Arthur asked, turning to the side to give himself more privacy as apparently Michael wasn’t getting the hint that this was a private conversation. 

“I don’t know,” Eames groaned, exasperated. “I mean there’s no reason we shouldn’t be, and I think he really wants to. I just didn’t expect to get into a serious relationship right now, you know?”

Arthur only too vividly remembered their previous conversation where Eames said he’d wanted to play the field and not settle, the feeling of inadequacy which crept through him turning his stomach. Michael now pressing an open mouthed kiss to the nape of his neck which really wasn’t helping matters either. He knew he should be ashamed of the conflicted feelings he had for his best friend, while his boyfriend was in bed with him no less, but Eames was something he just couldn't seem to shake. 

“No rush,” Arthur said finally, his mouth dry. “Just take your time, you’ll figure it out soon enough.” 

“You alright?” Eames asked tentatively. “You’re sounding a bit off today.”

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but then Michael was sliding two fingers under his ass, trying to slip them inside him. He jumped with a barely suppressed yelp, whipping around to slap the man hard in the arm, eliciting a laugh from Michael. 

“Fuck, is Michael back?” Eames asked. “Sorry mate, didn’t know you were busy. We can talk later.”

“No, it’s ok,” Arthur said, furrowing his brows at Michael, giving the older man the “knock it the fuck off or I’ll end you” face. Michael held up his hands in playful supplication, laying back onto the bed with his arms folded behind his head. Arthur stayed standing, turning his attention back to the phone. “I want all the grisly details, maybe we can meet up for lunch tomorrow?.”

“Sounds great,” Eames said, silent for a moment before continuing. “You’re doing ok then?”

Arthur couldn’t help the gentle smile which tugged at his mouth. “I am, really.”

“Meet you at the deli on Selby tomorrow then? Just text me before you leave.”

Arthur nodded to himself. “Sounds perfect.”

“Say hi to Michael for me.” Eames offered charitably. 

Arthur snorted. “He doesn’t deserve it. See you tomorrow.” He hung up the phone and set it on the dresser, not turning when he heard Michael stand up from the bed.

“Was that your other boyfriend?” Michael asked, wrapping his arms about Arthur’s slim waist and resting his chin on the younger man’s shoulder. 

Arthur rolled his eyes, knowing Michael would see it in the mirror before them. “Yes, and if you insist on fingering me while I’m on the phone again he’ll be my ‘only’ boyfriend,” Arthur retorted, taking the childish route and sulking when Michael chuckled and kissed his throat again. 

“I thought the appeal of having a kept boy was that they were fun loving and always up for it.” Michael purred against Arthur’s throat, his lips pressing warm kisses along it as his fingers dragged over Arthur’s flat belly.

“Well when you get one, let me know how it works out,” Arthur returned over his shoulder, shrugging his way out of the man’s grip to grab fresh underwear from his drawer. “Besides, if I’m your kept boy I demand immediate back payments on all the lavish gifts and trips to exotic islands you should have been showering me with.” He finally managed to pull up his briefs despite Michael’s best efforts to drag them back down.

“Mmm...” Michael tightened his arms about Arthur, pulling the slight man back towards the bed and down into his lap. “Maybe instead of kept boy I should have called you my tart on the side.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Arthur chided, rubbing his hips back against Michael’s stirring lap, turned on by the strong arms which encircled him. Michael was serving as a welcome distraction, but his jokes spoiled the mood, hitting too close to home for Arthur to find any real humor.

“Who’s joking?” the man purred into Arthur’s ear, taking the soft flesh of his earlobe between his teeth, 

Arthur rolled his eyes with a groan. “You’re ridiculous,” he chastised, turning to push the him back down onto the bed. He straddled the man’s hips, hands resting atop his toned chest, hard muscle tensing beneath his fingers. Michael was holding onto his hips now, rocking up languidly against him. 

“He’s rather gorgeous, your other boyfriend,” Michael said, brows knit as he thrust up, making Arthur moan.

“Oh?” Arthur asked, the ‘how the hell would you know’ implied.

“Quite the picture popped up when he texted you earlier,” Michael said, straight teeth bared by his lascivious grin. “The belly tattoo was very sexy.”

Arthur faltered atop Michael, but was more caught off guard that the man was being completely serious, and didn’t in the least seem upset or suspicious. “He put that there a stupid joke,” he said flippantly, worried Michael was far better at masking distrust than anyone had a right to be. 

“You said he’d been to prison right? I’d love to see you with him,” Michael said, fingers curling into the waistband of Arthur’s briefs to tug them down. “Watch him fuck you in the shower, have my own private ‘drop the soap’ show.”

Arthur gripped Michael’s wrists, brows furrowing. “That’s not funny,” he said, tone indicating the other man should drop the issue. 

“I’m dead serious,” Michael continued, either not noticing or not caring that Arthur was displeased with the current arc of conversation. “Ask him if he’s up for it, though judging by what I’ve seen I doubt he’d be opposed-”

Arthur looked down at him like he’d grown a second head, beyond perplexed. “Eames and I are not together,” he said, slow and even. “I’m not like that, I don’t-” he swallowed down the anger which bubbled up at being misunderstood in such a way. “I don’t screw around when I’m with someone.”

Michael gave him this bemused look, like he was genuinely surprised by this revelation. Arthur felt cold anticipation trickle over his spine like crawling insects, anger and hurt blossoming as he tried to keep it down, worrying he’d lose control if he allowed it to rise any further. “Do you seriously think I’m that type of person?” he asked, staring hard into the Irishman’s blue eyes. 

Michael met his look, the corner of his mouth curling into a cool smile. He raised a hand to brush Arthur’s hair back, chuckling a little when Arthur flinched away from him, his jaw set angrily as he stared at his boyfriend and waited for him to speak again. 

“You’re not exactly a choir boy,” Michael finally purred, fingertips trailing across Arthur’s collarbones and down his chest. “Your job is sexual by nature, who knows what you get up to on those late nights, or on your little sleepovers with Eames when you ‘forget’ our plans.”

The words felt like they should sound accusatory, but Michael’s tone held neither the slightest anger or jealousy. He stated them pure logic, with all the passion of reciting a shopping list. Arthur balked at him, confusion knitting his brows as he gazed at the man who every second grew less and less familiar to him. “So it would be fine with you,” he said, words spoken slow and careful so as to be explicitly understood. “If I was fucking guys from the club, or fucking Eames on our little ‘sleepovers’ as you call them. That idea doesn’t bother you at all?”

Michael chuckled, the fingers brushing against Arthur’s abdomen now trying to push him back against the bed. “I’m not your father, Arthur, it’s not as though I can to you what and what not to do. Though I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to call me daddy from time to-”

Arthur pushed him off in disgust, standing to give himself some distance. He thought back to all of Michael’s little tasteless jokes which he’d tossed out throughout the months of their relationship, the joke about Eames being his other boyfriend, the reality that they were said in honesty settling in his stomach like a stone. His head shot up, arms crossing over his chest in anger. “You have someone else, don’t you,” he asked, voice icy and low, the realization bitter on his tongue.

Again Michael looked genuinely surprised, though he quickly masked it when he realized Arthur was not only completely caught off guard but upset. “I honestly thought you’d known, darling, especially after you stopped asking to come by my place-”

“Don’t call me that,” Arthur bit out. “Of course I didn’t fucking know, I never would have kept seeing you if I knew.” Nausea rocked through him, tightening his throat. “How many others are there? Do they know you’re sleeping around on them too?”

Michael sighed, reaching for his discarded pants to pull out his wallet. Arthur watched him retrieve a silver ring, holding it up in the dim light so that Arthur could see it. He slid it onto his finger with a shrug, still so fucking nonchalant Arthur wanted to throw him out the goddamn window. “Just the one,” he said. 

Arthur didn’t trust his own voice at first, his eyes hot as he stared at the ring in complete shock. His arms wrapped about himself against the shame which threatened to consume him. “You’re fucking married?” he asked, voice shaky. He felt like he was seeing Michael for the first time, his blue eyes shockingly devoid of any real remorse. The pity with which he surveyed Arthur felt mocking, like Michael couldn’t believe how naive Arthur had been, like he should have known about this from the beginning, like it was all such a little thing to him. 

Michael stood, moving closer to Arthur with outstretched hands but not attempting to hold him. “It’s not like I don’t care for you Arthur, I do, but I love my wife and don’t intend to replace her.”

Arthur hated himself for the momentary urge to accept Michael’s embrace, to go back to him even with this revelation. When did he become this weak? 

“Why then?” Arthur finally asked. “If you’re so happy with your wife why did you ask me out in the first place? Are you closeted? It sure didn’t seem that way when you hit on me at the fucking department store.”

“It wasn’t anything planned, you were just so sexy,” Michael said, taking another step forward with that wolfish twinkle in his eye when he saw Arthur wasn’t backing away from him. “Besides...we do things I can’t ask her to do-”

Arthur didn’t let him finish whatever asenine rationale he was starting, wracked by memories of all the things he’d let Michael do to him, that he had done for the other man. He shoved hard at the other man’s chest, knocking Michael back a few paces. “Fuck you!” he shouted, shoving Michael again until he was stumbling out of the bedroom. 

“Arthur,” Michael said, still too calm and placating which only incensed Arthur further. “Let’s talk about this-”

Arthur wasn’t listening, instead scrambling for Michael’s clothes only to thrust them into the other man’s arms. “Don’t fucking touch me!” he warned when Michael moved towards him, slamming the bedroom door and locking it before the other man had a chance to react. He stared at the closed door, feeling apart from what had just transpired, as though he were watching it and not actually involved. His heart beat furiously at the mixture of emotions churning within him. 

“Arthur,” Michael’s voice was softer now. “Please open the door and talk to me. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“Go home to your wife,” Arthur snapped. “And don’t call me again, you bastard.” He waited by the door, his hands balled into white knuckled fists as he listened to Michael sigh. His eyes shot to the handle when it rattled, Michael apparently testing the knob to see if he could get back in. 

“Open the door, Arthur,” Michael said again, his voice hard and even, more of a command than a request. There was a moment of silence before he finally spoke again. “I always figured you’d leave me for Eames in the end, you know,” Michael finally said through the door, voice muffled as though his forehead were pressed right against it. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Leave!” Arthur shouted, his throat hoarse with the force of it. 

He jumped at the crack of Michael’s hand slamming against the door in frustration, his shoulders tense in worry the man would try to break it down. If Michael got in, Arthur didn’t know if he’d be able to fight the other man off, in fact he truly had no idea what his now ex-boyfriend was actually capable of. He scrambled to the bed, scooping up his phone from the side table. On instinct he found Eames’ name, thumb hovering over the call button as he waited, panting with both anger and nerves. 

Arthur watched the door, silently begging the man to just leave. He could hear Michael breathing, heard his fingers drumming on the door before finally stepping back to shuffle about and get dressed. Arthur didn’t finally release the breath he was holding until he heard the front door open and shut. 

He waited for some time, listening carefully for any noise or indication that Michael was still in his apartment. At the sound of an engine, Arthur rushed to the window in time to see Michael’s car pull away from the curb. At a rattling noise, Arthur glanced down and realized that his shaking hand was making his mobile phone clatter against the window. He shook his hands out, breathing deeply to calm himself. His whole body trembled, but while his eyes felt hot he didn’t cry. It took him another ten minutes or so to work up the courage to leave his bedroom and hurry to the front door. Arthur locked the deadbolt and the knob, testing it a few times before he was satisfied. 

Returning to his bedroom, Arthur realized that Michael had punched a hole into his door. The tips of his fingers ghosted over it, tingles shooting down his spine at the rough edges of the fractured wood. He’d never felt unsafe in his apartment before, feeling ridiculous yet helpless to the constant loop of worries. What if Michael came back later that night? What if he’d made a copy of Arthur’s key? What if he could force his way in?

Arthur told himself to calm down, that he was being a fucking idiot about the whole thing, that he was giving himself too much credit. In all likelihood Michael would just find some other stupid boy to have degrading sex with to preserve the sanctity of his pure fucking marriage. 

He wanted to call his mother so badly, it ached. 

Instead, he found himself calling Eames, hardly realizing he’d done it until he heard the dial tone. He sniffled in hard, clearing his throat just in time before Eames picked up. 

“Arthur,” Eames purred, his voice quieter than usual. “Always a pleasure to hear from you darling, but now’s not the best of times.” In the background he heard an unfamiliar voice mumble something unintelligible. “We call each other when we get off work,” Eames explained, voice faint as he addressed whom Arthur had to assume was Idris. His voice was rough with what Arthur knew only too well was from fucking or sleep, but most likely fucking. He immediately regretted calling, not wanting to admit he was falling apart while Eames was still fuzzy from coitus. 

“Sorry,” Arthur said quickly. “I’ll-I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Everything ok?” Eames asked, sounding immediately sobered. 

Arthur felt tears now, squeezing his eyes shut against them while he gripped the phone hard enough to break it. He really had fucked his entire life to hell, first losing his dream job and then letting this perfect man slip right through his fingers. How could he have ever been so blind to think Michael was a better choice. He didn’t deserve Eames now, and Arthur was beginning to seriously question if he ever did. 

“Arthur?” Eames sounded worried now, bringing him back to the present. 

“Sorry,” Arthur said, forcing himself to chuckle as he wiped away a tear. He surprised himself at his own ability to mask his nerves. “I was just driving home and thought I’d talk to you to stay awake. Idris is with you though, so don’t worry about it.”

“It’s fine,” Eames insisted. “We were just laying here. Where are you, got much further to go?”

“No, almost home,” Arthur lied, tucking up his knees on the bed. “Forget about it,” he said, the admittance of what had transpired with Michael on the tip of his tongue. “I’ll just talk to you later...I’ll play some loud music or something.”

“You sure?” Eames asked again. Fuck, why did the other man have to be so fucking perceptive?

“Have fun with Idris,” Arthur implored, genuine. “See you at work.” 

He hung up the phone before Eames could reply, more tears finally slipping free. He wiped them away bitterly, wishing he was strong like he used to be. Like he’d always felt he was. He’d talk to Eames later when he’d had time to digest what had just happened and when he could actually keep his emotions in check. 

A hot shower helped, rinsing away his tears and calming his nerves, but only skin deep. When Michael still hadn’t returned hours later, Arthur finally allowed himself to try and sleep. The room was too quiet, any little noise drawing his immediate attention. After an hour or so of laying fitfully awake in bed, Arthur plugged in his phone and turned on Eames’ calming playlist. A pavlovian calm slipped through him as the familiar songs played, allowing Arthur to finally close his eyes and drift off to sleep.


	13. Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Arthur chapter, but there will be some back to back Eames chapters coming up, so no worries, he's not being ignored ;)

Arthur

Arthur thought the night would be a relatively slow one. The club wasn’t packed, but there was a decent enough number of patrons that he was confident there was still some money to be made. He waited backstage for Matt to be done with him number, fiddling opting for a last minute change into his lucky gold shorts. He would have preferred a busier night, not only for the money but also for the distraction. Michael hadn’t returned after their blow up, but had sent Arthur two texts, both of which he had ignored and immediately deleted. 

Eames as it turned out, hadn’t completely bought his “calling while driving home” act, and had called him the next night when Arthur hadn’t called him back. Arthur gave him an extremely abridged version, simply stating “Michael’s married, I broke up with him.” Eames had been appropriately shocked, though admitted there had always been something off about the other man. Arthur knew Eames had more he would likely wish to say, but was holding back for his sake. When Eames had asked if he was ok, Arthur had scoffed at him, telling him not to be ridiculous. 

Arthur was still having some trouble sleeping, and knew if he just told Eames what had happened, the other man would be there for him. He’d sleep over and play bodyguard, he’d drive by if Arthur felt scared and check on him, have Arthur come stay with him, and all for as long as it took for him to feel better. Arthur would never put such an imposition on his friend though now that he was finally making a life for himself with new friends and a new boyfriend. Arthur didn’t feel pushed away by Eames, but he certainly didn’t want to be a burden. 

Arthur pulled up his sparkly gold micro shorts, hoping they drew their usual attention and kept him occupied and unable to stew in rumination. A couple other guys flittered in and out of the dressing room, but they paid him no notice and he offered them no greeting. He looked up as Matt came through the curtain, sweat and glitter making his bare chest glisten. He raised his brows at Arthur, knowing he was next in line. 

“Not too much out there tonight,” he said. “Hope you don’t have rent to pay.”

Arthur shrugged, and Matt didn’t press him for further conversation, instead rolling his eyes at Arthur’s sullen silence and flopping down at his mirror to freshen up a bit. Arthur stood, knowing he didn’t have much time to get onto the stage. Maurice had been on the boys for punctuality, and wasn’t one for turning a sympathetic eye like Browning. 

He danced to a slower song than usual that night. He took his time, making lazy turns around the pole as he surveyed the room, sliding up and down it sensually before he caught sight of a man who was becoming a bit of a regular for him. He never asked for a private dance, but if he noticed Arthur on the stage he’d always sit and watch. Arthur slid to his knees, crawling across the stage towards him 

The man was husky and balding and usually was sweating to some degree, but he tipped well and was respectful, so Arthur liked to give him special attention. He rolled onto his belly, drawing himself to his knees so his ass was propped up in front of the man’s face. He wiggled before drawing getting to his feet and bending forward, clapping his ass like Eames had taught him that weekend while they were drunk at Arthur’s place, back before everything went to shit. 

If the cat calls were any indication, he was doing it right. Arthur felt fingertips at the top of his shorts and glanced back to offer whomever was tipping him a smile. The smile faltered on his lips when he realized he recognized the man. He couldn’t place him right away, the bright lights on the stage making it hard to see, but Arthur knew that he knew him. Arthur forced another weak smile, standing and moving back across to the pole. He wrapped a hand around it, spinning slowly before sinking to his knees, popping his ass out when he drew himself back up. When he turned, the man was still there with a self satisfied smirk. 

His stomach sank, churning with unease and a sense of foreboding. He tried to maintain some distance, but then the man was holding up more money, wanting Arthur to come closer and take it. He did so hesitantly, his rhythm faltering from his less than sure footing. 

Arthur became increasingly certain that he knew this man, before picturing in sinking clarity the man walking into his classroom for parent teacher conferences. Arthur didn’t know how to react or what to do, as even in his worst case scenarios he’d run through before actually accepting the job at Fisch, this had somehow never occurred to him. Arthur came to stand before the man, the stage giving him the height advantage. He usually bent down to accept offered money, but this time he remained standing, extending his shorts just enough for the man to slip his money in. The blond man’s eyes never moved, never blinked, remaining fixed on him with increasing hunger. 

Arthur was nauseous, immediately glancing back longingly towards the curtain at the end of the stage. His song was almost up, he’d be able to disappear into the dressing room and hide for a few minutes before coming back out to the floor. If he was able to grab one of the patrons right by the door, he could hopefully convince a man to buy him a drink or buy a lapdance in the VIP room. He went back to his regular, moving down to his knees to try and get away from the blond’s gaze. The regular was only too happy to oblige him, digging into his wallet to pull out more singles with meaty fingers. The man licked his sweaty lips when Arthur bent backwards until his shoulders were brushing the stage, his thighs burning from the strain as he slowly pulled himself back up. 

“You have beautiful thighs,” he man said, his high voice strained. “That no touching rule is torture.” His hard breaths rustled his white mustache with their force. 

Arthur slid to his hands and knees, arching his back and letting his arms stretch out on the stage before him. “If you wanted to book some time with me in the VIP room or champagne room, the rules are a bit more relaxed,” he purred, practically able to see the surge in the man’s heartbeat through his shirt and jacket. 

“How much?” the man asked. 

“Fifty a song,” Arthur said. “That’s not a lot of time...I’d love to spend twenty minutes with you, it’s only one fifty.”

The man’s face fell. “I didn’t bring that much tonight...maybe next time?”

Fuck fuck fuck....Arthur nodded, keeping his smile pleasant while he screamed internally. “I’ll be ready when you are, lover,” he said with a wink. He didn’t have to look over to know the blonde was still close, staring at him. Why couldn’t the guy take a fucking hint and leave him alone. 

The song ended and Arthur retreated to the dressing room, brushing past Dwayne and Joe. He pulled his cropped red top on, hoping it would catch someone’s eye. He fiddled around in his bag, pretending to search for clothes to buy himself some more time. A few other of the guys drifted in and out, their voices rushed and mirthful. Arthur took out his lockbox and put his stage money away, counting and recounting as he listened to the guys in the dressing room chatter. 

“Eames I think.”

Arthur’s ears perked at the sound of his friend’s name, his body rigid as he forced himself not to turn around and look. It was Matt speaking, and Arthur could almost see his wide eyed stare as he listened to him talk. 

“He’s so fucking hot. I mean his face is great but he came in here the other day to warm up, and oh my god...he’s got such an amazing body.”

“You and your thugs,” Jimmy interjected with a chuckle, his eyeroll almost audible. 

“If he’s that thick everywhere, then he’s definitely worth slumming it for.”

Arthur thought of how proud Eames had looked when he showed Arthur around his new shoebox of an apartment. He remembered the grin that had split the man’s open face, the vulnerability that Arthur would not see past the peeling paint and spackled walls and see it for everything it meant to him. Of how hard Eames worked, and how earnest he was at turning his life around and really being a better person. Arthur slammed his locker door shut, his head held high and haughty. “He is,” he tossed over as he walked out of the dressing room. “But you wouldn’t be the one slumming it.”

“Bitch!” Matt hissed at him while Jimmy laughed, any other words he said cut off by the door shutting. 

Arthur glanced about, the floor a bit fuller at this later hour. He stayed close to the bar, smiling at anyone who looked his way. A built man who looked a bit too old for his much too tight t-shirt smiled back, the colorful cocktail in his hand and manicured brows clashing with his otherwise macho image. Arthur honed in on him, immediately sliding onto the barstool beside him. “You want to buy me a drink?” he asked. 

The man smiled again, his lips pursing as he surveyed Arthur’s slim body. “Sure thing, precious,” he said, waving to the bartender. “You new around here? Can’t say I’ve seen you before.”

“It’s only been a few months,” Arthur said, leaning back against the bar in an invitation for the man to come closer. “I’m still learning, so be gentle with me?” He flashed his dimples, noting the immediate grin this brought to the man’s face. 

“Oh honey,” the man said. “I’m gentle as a lamb.”

Arthur offered him a coy pout. “Promise you’re not just wearing sheep’s clothing?”

The man’s grin this time displayed teeth too even and white. “You may have to get under my clothing and find out.”

Arthur forced his mouth to turn up invitingly, the reverie broken with a warm hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Browning standing there, cigar planted between his teeth despite the clear and posted “no smoking” sign behind the bar. Browning slid his hand across Arthur’s shoulder, making him shiver when the rough skin brushed over his neck in a display of ownership. 

“So sorry to butt in boys, but Arthur here has a little appointment with another patron.”

Arthur looked up at Browning, keeping his face as unaffected as possible despite the immediate realization that the patron had to be the blond man. No one really asked for him specifically yet, as he hadn’t built enough of a clientele. “But my friend and I were just getting to know each other,” he said with an exaggerated pout, his hand resting on the other man’s knee. “I’d hate to leave him high and dry.”

Browning smiled, his thumb tracing over the side of Arthur’s long neck. “That’s mighty sweet of you, but I’m sure I can find someone to take good care of your new friend here until you’re free again.” Although pleasant, there was no room for discussion in Browning’s tone. It was all business, which meant the blond had already paid. Arthur’s suspicions were only proven true when Browning led him away, his broad hand on Arthur’s lower back as he guided him through the room. “You made quite an impression, sweetheart,” he said. “There’s already a nice little tip waiting for you. Be sweet to him and I’ll bet you can milk him for more.” Browning looked rather like a shark as he grinned with his cigar caught between his white teeth. 

Arthur’s nose began to tingle, his jaw clenched as tightly as his fists as he followed Browning up the stairs past the VIP area to the champagne rooms. The older man must have noticed, as he stopped Arthur with a hand to his chest. 

“Relax honey, don’t worry. He gives you any shit and we’ll have out on his ass. I look out for my boys here.” He cupped Arthur’s cheek, giving it an affectionate tap. Arthur nodded, surprised at how thankful he was for the reminder. 

Browning opened the door for him, and Arthur stepped in to find the blond man sitting on the couch, a glass of champagne already in hand. He had an ankle raised to one knee, the casual bastard, his posture only serving to make Arthur more aware of his own nerves. He hated to give the man any advantage though, so he swallowed his fear and stepped forward. He moved immediately to select the music, wanting to just get this started so it could end. 

“I see you’ve already started,” he said, indicating the champagne without actually looking at the man. “Any particular song you’d like? I can search for most popular music.”

“We don’t really need music-” 

Arthur swallowed hard at the familiar voice, a hot flush spreading from his chest to his neck. He prayed he was wrong, that this man wasn’t who he thought he was. Arthur would almost prefer a surprise visit from Michael over this. He forced a wide empty smile though, as though the man were teasing him. “Hard to dance without music, how about some Fugees...”

The blond man stood then, moving towards him. Arthur tried to ignore him, finding the song he wanted before quickly distancing himself by walking to the bar. “Do you want another drink? Why don’t you sit and get comfortable and I’ll pour you one.”

The blond man came right up behind him, bracing a hand on the wet bar to cage Arthur in. Arthur never had liked feeling caged. He busied himself with pouring the drink, hoping the man would give up and just sit the fuck down. 

“You really don’t remember me?” the man asked, his voice edged between delight and disbelief. 

Arthur stilled himself, his fingers curling around the neck of the champagne bottle in readiness to use it for defense. He breathed out hotly, keeping his face turned from the man. “Sorry, I see a lot of faces here, it’s hard to keep track.”

For a moment, the man was silent, eyeing Arthur as though he might have been mistaken. He wrapped a hand about Arthur’s upper arm, pulling him gently to face him. 

Arthur jerked his arm away with a tense humorless smile. “I’m sorry sir, but we have a no touching policy.”

The blond’s eyes widened in delight. “It is you. I knew it the moment I saw you...Mr. Cohen.”

Arthur tried not to wince at the sound of his own name. Please just leave me alone, he pleaded inwardly. Please just leave me be. 

“It’s me,Dom...Phillipa Cobb’s dad.”

Arthur let his eyes slide shut with the resolution of a man accepting a noose at the gallows.

“We talked at parent teacher conferences two years ago, about Phil drawing pictures of her mother-”

“Waiting for a train,” Arthur sighed, his head bowed. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t placed Dom the second he saw him. Perhaps it was that his demeanor had completely changed. He’d sat in front of Arthur in those undersized classroom chairs, Dom a broken man after his wife’s suicide. Arthur had leaned forward and put a hand over Dom’s and told him Phillipa was a strong girl, that she was doing remarkably well considering her circumstances. That Dom had been doing a brilliant job keeping her happy, and that the drawings were her way of dealing with grief at her young age. Dom had looked up, red rimmed eyes glistening with unshed tears as he told Arthur that Phillipa said he was her favorite teacher. It had been the proudest moment of Arthur’s short teaching career, a reflection of the goal he’d had in becoming a teacher in the first place. 

Arthur had been so fucking proud of being a teacher, had tried his best to keep his former life separate, boxed up and ready to be reopened when he resumed teaching. He’d therefore made sure to keep his new job a secret from all of his old acquaintances, associates, friends...but here Dom Fucking Cobb was, looking at him like he was a piece of meat and robbing him of the pride that kept him going. 

“What do you want?” Arthur asked, his voice hollow but thankfully sturdy. He set both palms atop the wet bar, grounding himself. 

Dom smiled, looking as though perplexed that Arthur couldn’t understand why their encounter was so fucking serendipitous. “I just can’t believe I found you. When Phillipa said you were gone, I thought that was the last I’d see of sweet Mr. Cohen...but here you are. I gotta say, you look damn good.” His eyes scanned down Arthur’s body, his head tilting to take in Arthur’s pert rump encased in sparkly gold spandex. 

“I didn’t know you were thus inclined,” Arthur said through clenched teeth, voice icy. 

“I’m not usually,” Dom countered. “I never did, but after the conferences I just couldn’t get you out of my head...after my wife I thought I’d never think about another person again, but then you come in with your prim little button downs, you hair all slicked back looking at me like you’d do anything to make me feel better...fuck, I came so hard thinking about you...” Dom moved forward to take hold of Arthur’s arms and pull him closer. Arthur immediately wrenched out of his grasp but held his ground. 

“No touching,” he said, trying to keep his voice as impartial as possible. 

Dom sighed, leaning forward again to draw closer still. “But you don’t understand,” he said, his voice raspy and brows furrowed in insistance. “I’ve never even thought about another guy before. I’ve tried other clubs and other guys and every time I just think about you....what are the odds I’d even find you here...”

Arthur stepped back, forcing space between them, his own brows furrowing as he glared at the other man. “I understand you’ve paid for this room for thirty minutes, that I have a job to do, and that my boss will be pissed at me if I don’t do it; so how about you sit on the couch so I can give you a fucking lapdance, alright?”

Cobb swallowed, determination set behind his eyes accompanied by something darker which Arthur didn’t care for. It was all out now though, and he refused to let this man rattle his feathers any further. Dom waited until Dom finally returned to the couch, standing stock still until the blond finally sat down with a huff to turn his back and fuss with the music.

He’d been at the club long enough now to have his own playlist, and he was comforted by the familiar music, the rhythm sending his body into movements now fluid through practice. He kept some distance from Dom, dancing in front on him with his back turned. Dom had taken the upper hand by catching him off guard, but Arthur refused to let himself be intimidated. 

Legs stuck straight, Arthur bent at the waist until his palms were flat on the floor beside his feet. Dom’s figners ghosted over his hips, making Arthur stand back up and turn in a fluid motion. “No touching,” he frostily reminded him. 

“I want to touch you,” Dom implored, almost desperate. “Let me touch you? I know how things can go in a place like this.”

“And how is that?” Arthur knelt on the floor between Dom’s knees, rolling his head between the man’s thighs so his hair brushed against him. 

“Rules can be bent for the right price,” Dom said. 

Arthur rolled his hips just above Dom’s crotch, mindful not to touch him. He felt like thousands of cockroaches were crawling over him, skittering across his shoulders and up his neck, down his arms, in his hair. The feeling was only intensified at the hot gusts of breath against his skin. 

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” Dom practically whispered, his voice shaky with arousal. “I used to imagine what you’d look like under those button downs and sweaters...I used to imagine you’d call me in for a conference and I’d have you against your desk, or you’d sit in my lap and I’d just kiss you.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, knowing that Dom on some level was digging for a reaction. He wanted to tell the man he was disgusting, that he’d never have done that, that he was a professional, but it wouldn’t make him feel better. Hearing Dom say these things, knowing he was thinking them while Arthur was talking about Phillipa’s report on Striped Lemurs made him sick. 

Did Dom actually think Arthur wanted to hear these things? That he’d like them or for some obscure reason appreciate them? Jesus. All he could think of was how much he’d loved those button downs and sweaters, and how much he wanted to burn them now. How much he hated Dom at that moment for making him feel that way. 

Dom thankfully shut his mouth for a moment and let Arthur do his job. The song was slow and sensual, allowing him to stand before Dom and move his hips, his hands tangling in his own hair. Dom seemed unable to take his eyes off of him, and if the man had asked him on a date after one of their conferences, if he’d met him somewhere like a bookshop or a bar and looked at him that way, Arthur might have actually been swept off his feet. But then he thought about Michael, and about how he’d met him under such circumstances and in the end been treated no better. Arthur still felt the pangs of humiliation at the smile that had tugged at Michael’s lips when Arthur, in dismay, had realized Michael was married. How amused and self satisfied Michael had looked when he called Arthur a “bit of fun.” Arthur felt the same way now as he had then; cheap. 

“Can I-” 

Arthur glanced back at the timid words. Dom cleared his lips, eyes showing a hint of vulnerability in a way that reminded Arthur of how he’d looked at that first conference. 

“Can I hold you?” Dom asked, his voice wavering with the first indication of nerves he’d shown that night. “Just for a moment? It’s been a long time since I just held someone...and I always wondered what it would feel like to hold you.”

“No,” Arthur said coldly. Simply. 

Dom looked away, and Arthur turned around so he didn’t have to see the man. He didn’t pity him anymore. He only looked down when he felt tips of Dom’s fingers against the bottom hem of his shorts, ready to slap the man away for touching him yet again. 

“Do you take these off?” Dom asked, his brow furrowed with renewed determination.

Arthur tensed, freezing for a moment before finally composing himself again. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “I’ll do it for a hundred bucks” he said. If Dom wanted to play these little games Arthur could at least get as much financial compensation as possible. 

“Alright,” Dom said, his hands resting on the seat at his sides. 

Arthur turned, standing stock still before him. He held a hand out to demand the payment up front, not bothering with the artificial warmth he’d generated for his regular at the stage. Dom nodded, mumbling agreement as he reached back into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Once Arthur had the money he tucked it into his g-string beneath his shorts. He turned back around then, facing the wall as he pushed down the shorts, guiding them down his lean legs until they were pooled at his feet. He heard Dom’s breath catch as he stepped out of the shorts, standing before the man in his tiny black g-string. 

“Bend over like before,” Dom said, his eyes empty and devoid of any of his previous nerves or vulnerability. He looked closed off, his determined mask unable to fully hide the bitterness brimming from Arthur’s rebuttals. 

Arthur held out his hand again for more money. Flatly thanking the man when Dom handed it over before tucking the money into his g-string. He turned around and bent forward, putting himself on display as the man had wanted. Arthur pushed past the shame, determined that if Dom was so set on humiliating him in this manner, then Arthur would at least get as much money for it as possible. 

“Take off the thong,” Dom said.

Arthur shook his head, his brows furrowing. “I don’t do that,” he replied with finality. 

“Then sit in my lap.”

Arthur held his hand out again, his jaw set and throat tight. Dom whipped another fifty out and held it out before Arthur’s face for the young man to take. Arthur did, finally sitting in the man’s lap so that they were chest to chest, Arthur’s knees braced against the couch astride him. Arthur kept himself focused on the wall behind Dom, doing the bare minimum to constitute dancing. 

“I’m not convinced teaching was your true calling anymore,” Dom said, some anger slipping through the mask and shining harshly in his gaze. “You’re a natural.”

Arthur tensed, heat burning behind his eyes as he swallowed down the last of his pride. It was obvious that Dom was trying to be hurtful, but the blond man couldn’t know how much he’d succeeded in that moment. Perfect fucking score with that one. 

“How much for you to blow me?” Dom asked, forcing Arthur to meet his harsh gaze. “I’d hate to miss an opportunity to finally have sweet Mr. Cohen suck my cock.”

Arthur froze, his entire body rigid despite his overwhelming desire to run away, to fucking punch Dom and scream what a complete and utter bastard he was, but then Dom’s hands were on his shoulders, his mask slipping. 

“God, Arthur, I’m so fucking sorry...I didn’t mean that...”

When Arthur finally recovered some minor control of his body he slapped Dom’s hands away. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. 

Dom’s hands flew away but he stood when Arthur clamored off of him unsteadily. “I didn’t mean that,” he repeated. “Please just listen...”

The buzzer went off, indicating the session was over. Arthur was never so happy to hear that damn noise, and he quickly made for the door. He could hear Dom following him, but wouldn’t be stopped. 

“I’ll buy another session!” Dom called after him, reaching out to take his arm. 

Arthur ripped his arm away, spinning to shove Dom back with both hands to his chest. “Fuck yourself,” he snapped, turning around and barely maintaining composure enough to not make a run for it. He didn’t go back for the rest of his clothes, opting to beeline for the stairs instead. Arthur felt a static shock rip through his chest when he heard Dom behind him again, too close for comfort. He hurried down the stairs, ignoring the man as he made his way through the crowd, vision fuzzy in his distress. 

Where the fuck were the bouncers?


	14. Eames

Eames almost groaned at the rush of heat that hit him as he walked into Fisch, the cold that had stiffened his entire body melting away from the thick heat of the many bodies milling around. Eames already dreaded having to go back outside, and hoped to catch Browning to see if he could stay inside the entryway that night. It was fucking bitter out there.

Tugging his hat off and stuffing it into his coat pocket, Eames glanced about for the sociable owner. Movement near the stairs caught his eye, and Eames looked up to see Arthur hauling ass down them in nothing but his g-string, a blond man several paces behind but obviously tailing him. Eames frowned, ambling forward to intercept him. In his haste Arthur almost slammed into him, his eyes pained and rimmed in red. He exhaled in apparent relief at seeing Eames, but didn’t stop moving. 

“Keep him away from me,” Arthur tossed back, his voice tight and desperate. 

“You alright?” Eames called out to him, brows knit with worry at seeing Arthur so uncomposed, but Arthur was already too far away to hear him, rushing towards the dressing room. Eames saw the blond approaching and felt a dark calm slip over him. 

Eames stepped forward and pressed an open palm to the man’s chest, stopping him head in his tracks. The man’s blue eyes darted up, irritated but betraying trepidation at Eames’ wide, unblinking stare. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Eames asked, fingertips still pressed against the blond’s chest. 

The man’s eyes darted in the direction Arthur had retreated to, dark brows furrowed at Eames as he apparently tried to discern who this hulking man was and if he was worth listening to. He tried to push Eames away, but Eames stepped in his path again, this time standing even closer still. The blond jerked back from him, looking rattled.

“I need to talk to Arthur,” the man finally insisted.

“He sure doesn’t want to talk to you,” Eames retorted, his head tilting slightly. “So jog on.”

The blond stared at Eames in disbelief, his eyes narrowing even further until he was almost squinting. He licked his lips, brows arching as he shifted a step back and pointed at his own chest in indignation. “I’m a paying customer-”

“This establishment reserves the right to refuse service to any patron at any time,” Eames responded, extending an arm to the front door. He’d never seen Arthur so upset before, the young man practically olympian in his ability to retain his composure. Eames literally couldn’t even think about what might have happened because the immediate rage which washed over him caught him off guard to such a degree that he wasn’t sure what he would do if pushed. 

Eames gripped the man by the arm, ignoring the wince his tight hold caused, and guided him back towards the door. He tried to focus on his breathing to keep his anger down, not even registering the protests the man was spewing at him. Thankfully for him, this wasn’t exactly a scene unfamiliar to other patrons in the club, but while this certainly wasn’t his job or his place, Eames couldn’t stop himself. He thought of Arthur’s panicked glassy eyes and just saw red, the wave of protectiveness new and unfamiliar to him but all encompassing just the same. 

Eames hauled the man outside the club, giving him a push just rough enough to send him stumbling forward a step or two. 

“My fucking jacket is still inside!” the guy spewed, pointing angrily back into the club. 

Eames held up a hand in warning when the man tried to step forward once more, practically daring him to move again. He would have loved the excuse to just pummel the fucker into the pavement, not that it would take much. “You wait out here like a good boy,” Eames ordered, letting his tone round posh and mocking. “Someone will bring it out to you, but you’re not coming back inside, sunshine.” 

When it became clear that the man had given up and was ready to follow instructions, Eames tipped his head to him and sauntered back into the club. He finally released the fists he’d been clenching, his fingers so tight from the tension that they actually hurt to move. If this had been even three years ago, the guy would have had to be peeled from pavement with a shovel, he didn’t know how lucky he was for the mandatory anger management classes Eames had been forced to attend while incarcerated. 

The first person he saw was Ben, a wiry little hipster dancer, and asked him to locate a lone jacket in the VIP or champagne rooms and to bring it to the guy waiting outside. 

“He gives you shit or tries to get back in, come get me,” Eames instructed. 

Ben looked up at him beneath his floppy hair in confusion. “Are you a bouncer now?” 

Eames shook his head. “Can you just do me the favor? The guy’s a prick so you might want to have Joel give it to him.”

Ben shrugged, nonplussed, but agreed all the same. 

Eames immediately moved towards the dressing rooms, figuring he could use looking for Browning as an excuse to check on Arthur and see what exactly had happened. He just needed to see that he was ok, anger still pulsing through his veins like an engine. Before he could get through the door though, he heard Browning call his name from the office. 

Eames suddenly realized what a cock up he’d just made. Ben was right, he wasn’t a bouncer, he really had no business throwing anyone out of the club. He certainly didn’t regret defending Arthur, but in all reality he could lose his damn job over this...

Browning was sitting at his desk, his feet propped up as he tossed the TV remote down onto his desk. “I saw your little removal on my video monitors,” Browning said, leaning back in his chair and idly rubbing a lit cigar between his thumb and forefinger. “Want to tell me what happened?”

Eames folded his arms across his chest defensively, knees locked and posture rigid as he prepared for the worst. “I’m really sorry about that...didn’t mean to overstep.”

Browning extended one meaty hand to the chair before his desk. “I didn’t ask you to apologize, I asked what happened.”

Eames took the seat, shrugging his coat off his shoulders. “The guy was messing with Arthur, so I escorted him out.”

“Did you see the guy messing with him?” Browning asked, his brow raised. 

Eames sighed, his thick lips pressing together. Browning was playing with him, but oddly enough didn’t seem too bothered by the whole thing so far. “I didn’t see it,” Eames admitted, trying not to sound like a complete fucking idiot. “But Arthur came running down the stairs, he looked really upset...I just reacted.”

“Overreacted,” Browning corrected, taking several puffs of his cigar. “Let’s be real about this, you thought he’d been putting his hands on your boyfriend and had a little testosterone tantrum.”

Eames was a bit taken aback. “Arthur’s not my boyfriend...” he started.

Browning raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Oh come on now, you don’t expect me to believe you got that worked up and you’re not even fucking him?”

Eames narrowed his eyes at the comment, his blood heating. “We’re not dating,” he said again, insistent. “We’re friends, and I know him well enough to know he doesn’t make something out of nothing.” 

Now Browning was chuckling, his head thrown back and cigar caught between his teeth as though he could see right into Eames head and knew everything he and Arthur had done together, knew everything Eames felt for him. It made him feel stripped bare, and he averted his eyes. 

“Look, Arthur’s a sweet kid…” Browning said. “But you can’t get too attached to the dancers. You can fuck them, you can have a little fun, but you don’t want to get mixed up in all that mess.”

Eames’ brows furrowed and he couldn’t stop the “why not” question before it had slipped from between his lips. 

“The jealousy,” Browning said around his cigar, pointing a thick finger at Eames. “When you get attached you get jealous, and you’ll have to deal with him teasing other guys’ pricks, touching on them and being touched on...and you can say that won’t be you but I’ve been in this business a long time, and no one is secure enough to watch the shit that happens here every night and not be bothered. You say you aren’t even with him and look how tonight turned out.”

Eames felt cold, looking down at his clasped hands, unable to deny that the man was right. “Are you firing me?” he asked, wanting to cut to the chase.

Browning shook his head, his lower lip puffed out. “You’re a good kid, Eames, and you work hard. I’ve run you around harder than I do most new guys and you took it in stride, and cause I like you I feel a little responsible for you...but I think you and I both know that this whole thing isn’t really the best fit for someone in your situation.”

Eames sighed, nodding. This was after all his third strike, his one last chance. What if the blond guy had put up more of a fight, said the wrong thing, pushed him that much further? What if Eames had actually hit him? Sure, Browning could stand up for him, but the judge had been quite clear that Eames had been shown the full breadth of his leniency, that their next meeting would be Eames’ last.

“You can stay on here if you want,” Browning said. “You’re sticking to the door though, and no more intervening with customers...understood?”

Eames nodded.

“Or,” Browning sighed. “I’ve got a brother...he owns a gym across town. It’s quiet over there...mostly old geezers and kids who train. Frankie’s on oxygen now from that damn emphysema, and it’s getting too hard for him to run things on his own. He’s a stubborn old bastard but needs the help...I wouldn’t send over just anyone, so this is a lot of fucking faith I’m putting in you kiddo-”

Eames immediately nodded his head, his back straightening. “I won't let you down.”

“Fucking better not,” Browning said, brows raised as he pulled out a pad of paper from one of his desk drawers. “No guarantee he’ll agree, but this could really be an amenable solution for the both of you. You interested?”

Eames felt oddly calm, his mind numbing him so he could properly process the swift turn of events. It sounded almost too perfect, and while he knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up until he’d checked it out and it was a done deal, he could feel excitement swelling in his chest. “Yeah, I mean that would be perfect...do you really think he’d go for it?”

Browning snorted, his smile knowing and likely not even meant for Eames. “I’ll talk to him.” He leaned back in his chair, the seat creaking under his weight. “In the meantime, you get this little infatuation under control and stick to the door, you got it?”

Eames nodded. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good.” Browning puffed his cigar and eyed Eames one more time before indicating for the door. “And don’t worry about Arthur,” he called as Eames was walking out. “I’ll talk to him.”

Eames ground his teeth together, anticipation knotting in his stomach, but he knew this wasn’t up for discussion. He didn’t want to burn any bridges with the man and fuck up his chances with this new job opportunity, so he simply nodded and made his way back to the front door, accepting his post once again in the bitter cold. He was just grateful to still have it. 

Later that night Eames waited outside for Arthur to leave. Browning had let him go home at close instead of giving him a list of cleanup tasks like usual. Eames wasn’t too worried about it, and would have been grateful if he’d had any news or sight of Arthur since after the incident. 

He’d pulled his truck beside Arthur’s car, able to with most of the patrons’ cars gone. He kept the engine running, still rubbing life back into his fingers when he saw Arthur’s huddled form approaching in his sideview mirror. Eames bolted from the car, crossing swiftly to Arthur. The younger man didn’t even register his approach until Eames was directly before him, starting in surprise before he recognized him. 

“Fuck, Eames, you scared me,” he said, sounding more tired than Eames had ever heard him. He already had his keys clutched in one hand, eyes puffy like before but not red. “What are you still doing here, you got done like twenty minutes ago.”

“I had to see you,” Eames confessed. “You ok, darling? Who was that guy?” He wanted to pull Arthur into his arms and hold him, but Arthur looked on edge, and Eames got the feeling he wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. 

Arthur sighed, refusing to meet Eames’ eye in an uncharacteristic manner. “Just some asshole,” he said with a shrug. “This guy I used to know. Just wasn’t expecting him.”

Eames’ brows set in a firm line, wholly unsatisfied with the response. “Did you used to go out with him?” he asked, prodding for more.

“Fuck no,” Arthur spit out. “He was-” Arthur’s face fell even further, his mouth twisting with distaste. “He was a parent, of one of my kids. He recognized me, and when I didn’t fawn all over him he got nasty.”

“Did he hurt you?” Eames blurted out, taking a step closer, his fingers itching to touch the other man. 

Arthur shook his head. “He was all talk,” he said. “Just pushed my buttons, I should have been able to handle it, really.” He looked embarrassed then, his cheeks and nose pinking with more than the cold. 

Eames sighed in relief, his shoulders finally slouching. “You aren’t the only one,” he said, cracking a grin when Arthur finally looked up at him. “I threw him out, thought for sure Browning would fire me...Maurice sure would have.”

“You threw him out?” Arthur repeated, brow arching. 

Eames rubbed a hand down his face to hide his own self satisfied grin, able to feel proud again in the safety of the knowledge he still had a job. “Looks like those court mandated therapies worked out after all, tossed him out on his ass but didn’t physically rip him a new one, sorry darling.”

Arthur shook his head, the sad little smile pulling at his pouty mouth making Eames want to kiss him. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked you that, it was just in the moment.”

“What are you on about?” Eames asked, taken aback. “You really think I’d ever be ok with someone hurting you? That I’d turn a blind eye to it?”

Arthur looked small, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t form the words. “I’m not worth losing your job over Eames. I’m not -”

“Oh shut up you idiot,” Eames chided breathlessly, finally pulling Arthur’s rigid body into his arms, burying his nose into the slighter man’s neck. “Of course you are. You’re my whole fucking world, Arthur, I’d do anything for you.” He turned his head, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s chilled cheek. 

He felt Arthur lean into him, felt his slim body start to tremble in his arms though he said nothing. His eyes were closed but dry when he tucked his head under Eames’ chin. “Arthur, darling,” Eames said softly, his broad hands rubbing over the other man’s arms to soothe him. “What’s wrong?”

Arthur shook his head, but didn’t speak. 

“Just tell me,” Eames urged, voice still gentle. “Even if I can’t fix it, I want to know.”

Arthur’s fingers tightened in Eames’ jacket, holding him close even as he pushed himself from Eames’ arms. “It wouldn’t be fair to you,” he finally mumbled.

“Is it about Michael?” Eames tried. “Don’t waste yourself on that asshole, you can do so much better. You need to stay with me a few nights just let me know. Just you and me, I promise, Idris will understand.”

Arthur shook his head, eyes so desperately sad as he pushed Eames away. “It’s not Michael,” he said. “I mean, yeah it bothers me a bit, but I’ll get over it. Really Eames, I’ll get over all of this, I think I’m just tired.”

Eames hated the helplessness which dragged at him, kept his arms at his sides instead of pulling Arthur closer. He could see Arthur closing back up, see the walls building as Arthur straightened and adjusted his messenger bag. Arthur ran thin fingers through his hair, taming it back away from his face. 

“Thanks for standing up for me,” he finally said. “You’re the sweetest guy I know.”

“Arthur-” Eames started, but Arthur was kissing his cheek fondly before stepping away, smile back on his face. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Arthur said. “Some sleep and a gin and tonic should have me back to normal.”

“If you say so love,” Eames said, reaching a hand up to fix a wayward lock of hair from Arthur’s forehead. “If it doesn’t, you have my number.”

"I know," Arthur said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Eames coming up next!


	15. Eames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Been sick with a sinus plague. Thanks to those still reading for your patience. You're all saints!

“Frank Browning?”

The old man sitting slouched behind the front counter looked up, his glassy eyes narrowing when he saw Eames standing there. He eyed Eames with a seasoned distrust, an oxygen cannula dangling almost completely out of his nostrils, deep set bags under his eyes. The man bore a slight resemblance to the proprietor of his former place of employment, and while Eames had gotten the impression that they two were somewhat of an age, Frank looked like he’d taken a much harder road than Peter Browning. 

“Who’s asking?”

“I’m Eames,” he began slowly, unsure of how much Browning had briefed the man. “Your brother sent me over...about the job?” Eames kept his hands in his pockets, brow arched in an inquisical manner as the older man gave him a shocked once over. 

“My brother Petey sent you?” Frank asked, finger pointed at his own chest as his apparent disbelief required further clarification. “From that homo bar of his?”

Eames coughed, trying to keep his expression neutral. “That sounds about right.”

Frank continued looking at Eames like he had two heads before finally offering a wet throaty chuckle. “When Petey told me he was sending a boy down I figured it would be one of those buck ten fairy types he likes...,” the man rolled his eyes and curled his lip in a long-time cultivated distaste. “But you’re like a friggin’ truck. Sure you’re a queerbo?”

“Quite sure,” Eames replied devilishly, pleased at the look of surprised acceptance that set over the man’s weathered face before he shrugged in resignation. 

“Jesus,” the Frank huffed, pushing his cannula back into place. “Times sure have fucking changed.” He reached across the desk with a groan, plucking up a pair of cheap plastic glasses and putting them on to get a better look at Eames. “This place aint what it used to be kid…and it sure aint nothing like that fancy bar old Petey’s got downtown.”

“That’s rather the appeal, if I’m honest,” Eames said. 

Frank shrugged with a mumbled “well ok then.” He fussed about with the papers on his desk, ignoring Eames as he made a halfhearted stack out of them before pushing them to the side. He indicated beside his desk with a shaky finger to an oxygen tank before beckoning Eames closer. “Pick that damn thing up and follow me, I’ll show you around.”

Eames quickly picked up the tank, threading some of the extra cord through his fingers so it wouldn’t get tangled. Frank shuffled forward without waiting for Eames to catch up, gesturing broadly as he went. “This is it!” he said with a sigh. “We’ve got the ring there...no one goes in there without signing a waiver, even if they’re just bouncing around by themselves; I don’t wanna get fuckin’ sued by some fruitcake with a lawyer daddy. The hanging bags inside are for everyone, but the ones in the back are for boxing trainers only...I got a list of them in the back, but you check the names before letting them back there.”

Eames followed, listening carefully as he had a feeling this would be the only time such information would be divulged. It hardly mattered, Eames had always had an excellent memory, and was only too pleased to finally “put it to good use” like his mother had always wanted. 

The gym itself was quite worse for wear. Nothing appeared to have been cleaned in ages, and the equipment was faded and starting to fall apart. Several of the punching bags looked almost completely held together with duct tape, and the only two treadmills in the room had to be from the late eighties. Despite the humble surroundings, Eames was already thinking minor fixes which could improve the place. The gym had potential, and judging by the many photos lining the wall, a former glory begging to be restored. Of course, Eames had no idea how much leverage or trust Frank was going to put in him in this little endeavor, but watching the older man it was clear that he was tired, and seemed ready to lighten his load. 

As appreciative as he’d been for the job at the club, Eames actually found himself getting excited at the prospects of where this job could lead. His excitement only compounded when Frank led him out the back and onto a cracked concrete yard enclosed with a dilapidated high chain link fence. 

His eyes widened in delight at the sight of the giant tractor tires resting along the far side of the yard. He was immediately swept up in a memory of his father as a much younger man, back before Eames became a permanent source of disappointment and while Eames was still disillusioned that his father was perfect and someone to personify. He could see the sweat dripping down his father’s nose as he released the heavy tire. He looked back over at Eames, who at this time was barely seven. “How about a go?” the man had said, the devilish twinkle in his eye one of his few traits which Eames had inherited. Eames was caught off guard by how much he missed him, wishing there was a chance for him to once again see his old man with that starry eyed adoration and feel real love from him in return. 

“You like those?” Frank asked, pointing a shaky finger towards the tires. 

Eames nodded. “My dad used tires to work out when I was little. I used them too for a while. Are these popular?”

Frank shrugged. “I used to train guys on the tires, but I’m too damn old for that now. Don’t like these cocky shits coming back here when they don’t know what they’re doing. Lord knows they’ll just break their damn leg or some shit.” Frank took out a hankie to cover his mouth just before he was wracked by wet rattling coughs. “I keep it locked normally. Use them on your own time if you want, they’re just collecting dust for the most part now.”

Eames flashed him a little grin. “Yeah, I think I’ll take you up on that.”

The rest of the walkthrough was standard. The lockers and showers, the cubbies for bags and street shoes, the check in system. Frank kept everything in books, favoring them to the “damn computers” which he’d never bothered with. It seemed the man ran his business primarily on a series of regulars who, while devoted, didn’t quite bring in the needed revenue. Finally Frank slumped down at his desk, indicating Eames should put the oxygen back where he’d found it. 

Eames leaned the cannister against the desk to keep it upright, dropping the extra hose in a coil beside it. When Frank gave him no further direction, he sat down opposite the desk, his elbows on his knees as he waited further instruction. 

“You know when Petey called me and told me this whole scheme I thought he was just trying to be a bossy little shit like always,” Frank sighed, winded from their short walk as he leaned back in the chair until it creaked. “But why not, huh? If you want to come and deal with all this shit,” Frank shrugged. “I’ll give it a shot. Don’t know how much you think you’re going to get paid, but I don’t have too much to offer right now.”

Eames leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Don’t have too many expenses right now. Been living more simply by necessity as of late, but I have a bit of savings.”

“Petey told me about your legal troubles,” Frank said, almost immediately. “Didn’t say what it was for though.”

Eames opted for the honest approach. “Forgery, larceny....and a little stint of armed robbery.”

“A little one?”

Eames nodded. “Tiny.”

The old man nodded, his glassy eyes wandering over Eames’ muscled frame. “Any assault on that rap sheet?”

Eames couldn’t help his cheeky grin, and ducked his head down a bit in an attempt to compose himself. “Nothing too sinister, and all towards the dregs of society.”

Frank shook his head, bewildered. “And you were still a sissy back then too?”

Eames’ self satisfied smirk was answer enough. 

“Hmm,” Frank shrugged with a snort, inducing another round of rattled coughs as he tugged open a desk drawer. “Well kid,” he said, slightly out of breath as he pulled a folder from the drawer and tossed it towards Eames. “I got nothing worth stealing here anyways and you probably couldn’t even get ten dollars on my credit, so why don’t you fill out your information and we’ll get this whole thing going.” He sent a pen flying which Eames only just managed to catch. “None of this is hard, you just gotta get in the habit of checking people in and making sure their monthly dues are in. Some of the old bastards like to pretend I give them a free ride, but don’t listen to their shit. I got bills to pay and they aren’t that good of friends anyways.”

Eames opened the folder and took in the yellowed forms inside. He pulled one out, filling in the appropriate information, trying not to grin like an idiot when he was able to write his new apartment number on the sheet, and the mobile phone number. He was already halfway through writing Arthur’s name and number into the emergency contact section before he realized what he was doing and paused. 

He was struck by the realization that Arthur was the first person he’d really trusted and depended on since his father. Like any other idiot teenager, he’d thought his friends were the only ones who had understood him or had his back, and while his first incarceration hadn’t taught him otherwise, his second sure had. His buddy Nash had sold him out to get out of a felony charge, earning Eames an extra year inside. He’d never turned to his friends for help though, always preferring to solve his problems on his own instead. Calling Arthur to help him move into his apartment had been comfortable though, calling him to vent or get teary in frustration had been too. He tried to hide the stupid smile this realization brought to his face, keeping his head bowed and hoping Frank wouldn’t notice and think him an even bigger fruitcake than he already did. 

Frank accepted the completed form, squinting his eyes as he glanced it over briefly. “I was pissed at Petey when he first suggested this, but I gotta tell you, it’ll sure be nice to not have to drag that damn tank into the stalls to clean the johns anymore.”

Eames left with directions to return the next day, practically floating back to his truck. He’d be getting fifty bucks a day still, cash, which apparently Browning had offered to cover provided Frank liked Eames’ work. Frank promised to put Eames on payroll if he lasted a month, and free run of the gym whenever he wasn’t working. 

He immediately pulled out his phone, giddily pressing Arthur’s number. 

“Hey,” Arthur answered breathily on the third ring, his voice echoing. “Sorry, you’re on speaker, I’m just getting out of the shower.”

“Getting ready for work?” Eames asked, sliding into the truck. 

“Yeah,” there was a rustling before Arthur clicked off speaker, his voice more clear. “What’s up? I’ve been looking for you at the club but Brendan was there the last few nights.”

“Yeah.” Eames cleared his throat, excited to tell Arthur but unsure of how the news would be accepted. “I actually got a new job today.”

Arthur, bless his heart, couldn’t hide the sharp little intake of breath, a bare moment passing before he finally spoke, his voice soft. “New? Wow, I didn’t even know you had an interview.”

“Yeah well,” Eames paused, his tongue sucking against his uneven teeth as he considered his words. “I didn’t really want to tell you until I knew it was a done deal, but after that whole thing at the club, Browning had a little talk with me. He told me about his brother who runs this gym uptown. I met with him today and he wants me to start tomorrow.” Eames waited a beat to see if Arthur would say anything, but when he remained quiet he continued. “Frank, Browning’s brother, he’s a decent guy but just needs help running the place. It’s got some real potential, I know it’s a bit early to be thinking about this stuff but I think I could really help him spruce the place up and turn it around.”

Arthur finally spoke, his tone overly casual. “Wow, that’s great Eames...that sounds amazing. So is this going to be full time then? Are you not coming back to the club at all?”

Eames sighed. “I think I need to just leave the club, darling. Browning’s right, I just got too caught up and could have easily made that situation even worse. I just wanted to beat the shit out of that guy, I really fucking wanted to, but if I had and he pressed charges...that could have been bad.”

“What did you do?” Arthur asked, sounding taken aback. “I thought you just took him outside, did you freak out or something?”

Eames groaned, a muffled thump coming through the line as though he’d hit his head against a wall. “I just didn’t know what he’d done, but the idea he’d touched you or hurt you-” Eames clutched hard at the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. “I shoved him a few times then hauled him out. He just kept saying things about giving you money and wanting to talk to you... I seriously think I could have put him in the damn hospital if he hadn’t finally left. There’s always going to be guys wanting you there, and I know it’s all part of your job, but I don’t think I can handle it.”

Arthur was quiet, his end of the line completely silent which meant he’d stopped getting ready. 

“Are you mad?” Eames finally asked, wishing like hell he’d waited to have this conversation in person.

There was another pause before Arthur finally spoke up. “No,” he said. “No, I just had no idea you’d been so upset.”

“I just like you, Arthur,” Eames finally admitted. “You’re my best friend. I respect you, and you looked so sad-” 

“I overreacted,” Arthur cut in. “It’s my job Eames, I should be used to that kind of stuff. I am used to that kind of stuff by now, it just goes with the territory.”

“You deserve better though.” Eames blurted before he could stop himself, cursing under his breath as he adjusted the phone. “You used to not pay attention to it, you knew it was something separate from you but I don’t think you do anymore.”

“I don’t follow,” Arthur said. 

“You used to say this was all temporary, and I don’t think you believe it is anymore. I think you think you actually deserve all this, and are starting to get comfortable with it.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, and Eames knew he should just shut the fuck up he couldn’t stop himself. “You don’t even talk about applying for new jobs anymore,” he said softly, almost a whisper. “You never talk about teaching.”

“It’s just.” Arthur stopped, his discreet sniff still pulling at Eames’ heart. “It’s just hard. I’m a little raw right now, but things will get back to normal.” 

Eames wanted to reply, but Arthur was too quick, redirecting the conversation. “So Browning set this thing up? I’m going to miss seeing your stupid face every night...you’re going to actually have to hang out with me more now, if Idris can spare you.”

“He can,” Eames said with a chuckle. “Whether he knows it or not.”

“Does this mean you’re going to get all ripped?” Arthur asked, and Eames could almost hear the conspiratorial glint in his eye. “I’m going to miss snugging on your furry titties.”

“Kiss them goodbye, darling,” Eames said, pulling the truck out of the parking lot now that the conversation was light enough to allow him to focus on driving as well. “And my squishy belly.”

Arthur chuckled. “I forbid it.”

“You should come by,” Eames said. “Maybe in a few weeks when I get used to things and can show off my managerial skills.”

“I’ll come to your smelly old gym if you wax me,” Arthur countered. “I tried going to a salon to get my bikini line done and almost died when they asked me if I wanted my asshole waxed.”

“I wax your asshole every time,” Eames teased. 

“Yeah but you’re not a five foot tall college student who looks 14. I was a thousand percent convinced it was a police sting.”

Eames laughed. “Fret not, pet, I’ll wax your asshole this weekend. If you’re a good boy I’ll even give you a massage.”

Arthur sighed. “I don’t know, it’s not the same when it doesn’t come with a full release. You spoiled me, Mr. Eames.”

The words “Be an extra good boy and it still may,” were on the tip of his tongue, and while Eames knew he wasn’t feeling nearly enough guilt for even considering it, he felt just enough to keep quiet. “I should let you get ready,” he finally said, caught by the sad realization that he wouldn’t get to see Arthur most nights, get to banter with him and tease him until his normally stoic face went boyish with dimples. 

“Shit yeah, text me how it goes, ok?”

“Will do.”

“Bye Eames.” And then he was gone.


	16. Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time, I used to watch Cathouse on HBO with my sister when we were younger, and I kind of base Browning off of the bordello owner in that show. The stuff that happens in this is also influenced by that show, and the girls' interactions with the owner.

Arthur

Arthur glared at Brendan as he walked past him into the club. He knew it wasn’t fair, that the other man had done nothing to deserve it, but Arthur hated seeing him every night instead of Eames. He missed Eames with an almost physical ache, which he acknowledged was ridiculous as he could have called the other man a hundred times to get together. Eames had called him even, texted him too but Arthur had kept some distance. He knew now that seeing Michael had been a huge mistake, for more reasons than the obvious that Michael was a cheating bastard. He knew now that he should have instead fought harder to keep Eames, should have said he’d wait until Eames was ready for a relationship.

Shoulda woulda fucking coulda.

It wasn’t that Eames was cruel or taunted Arthur about his current relationship, his only crime being happy at having a boyfriend. Arthur had done the same thing when he’d been with Michael, though now realized how it might have been for Eames on the receiving end. It still made him sick to be reminded of Idris though, especially when the other man was such a decent and seemingly upstanding guy. He’d been invited over to meet the other man on more than one occasion, but Arthur had always wriggled out of it with some bullshit excuse that was just plausible enough to not be completely transparent. 

Then there was the whole issue of Michael. Arthur thought he was angry enough at the man’s betrayal to get over him, scared enough at his outburst to be glad he was out of the picture, but deep down Arthur worried that if the other man actually did call him, he wouldn’t say no. It was beyond pathetic, but the honest truth. He just hated being alone, and couldn’t stomach the idea of trying to find someone new, or finding someone permanent who would replace Eames.

The first few weeks after their eventful breakup, Arthur saw Michael everywhere. He’d appear in the crowd at the club, at the gas station, at the grocery store. Arthur hated the spark of adrenaline he got when he thought Michael had come to find him, whether to tell him he’d left his wife, that he needed him back, that he wanted to hurt him. Of course Michael wasn’t really there, and eventually his countenance melted away to expose the real patron sitting and waiting with bated breath for Arthur to bend over and shake his ass. 

Before that night, Arthur had resigned himself to the fact that Michael wasn’t coming back, but then his phone buzzed as he was giving Brendan the stink eye. He’d deleted the man from his contacts, but Arthur had no trouble recognizing the number immediately. It was fucking Michael. 

Arthur swallowed hard, glancing about him in worry that the man was there before stalking back to the bathrooms. He waited until he was in the privacy of a stall before checking the text, jaw clenched hard enough to hurt as he read the words “I want to see you”. He glared down at the screen until it went black from disuse, all the anger he thought he’d finished with welling back up, dragging the humiliation and heartache with it. 

“Fucking bastard,” he hissed aloud, not caring if anyone else was in the bathroom. He wanted to punch something, someone, anything. He wanted to just curl up in self pity and cry. He wanted Eames.

Arthur angrily wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, banging the stall door open with his elbow before heading to the dressing rooms. He had no intention of replying to Michael, wishing for nothing more than the other man to pickle in his own desperation as he deleted the text. He instead allowed himself to text Eames, feeling some of the rage wash free as he typed out the message.

‘Michael texted. He wants to see me.’

The phone pinged as he was putting his coat and scarf away, about to peel off his sweatpants. 

‘fuck him, Idris and I will kick his ass if he tries it’

Arthur felt his heart drop at the mention of Eames’ significant other, his spirits still not lifting when Eames followed the text up with a ridiculous ‘I got ur back bb ;)’. 

He must have looked like hell as Matt of all people wandered over, still sweaty and a bit winded from being on stage. “You ok, Arthur?” he asked, wide eyes tentative as Arthur wasn’t the most welcoming guy behind the scenes. 

Arthur forced himself to nod, not quite meeting Matt’s eyes as he stuffed his phone into his locker. He was pulling off his sweater when Matt lay a hand on his shoulder, stepping even closer with more of that fucking pity which Arthur couldn’t handle at the moment. Arthur jerked away at the touch on reflex, brows furrowed as he looked up at Matt in question. “‘M fine,” he mumbled. 

“Don’t waste your time on that one,” Jimmy interjected, flouncing into his seat at the mirror with a flourish. “For such a cute guy he’s the most frigid bitch ever.”

Matt rolled his eyes, but didn’t turn away from Arthur. “You sure?” he asked again.

Arthur felt heat behind his eyes, glancing at Matt in confusion. “You don’t even like me,” he said, as though the other man had forgot himself. 

“Oh honey,” Matt said, his smile almost playful. “I don’t like anyone.”

\- - - - - - 

Arthur felt lost all night, unable to shut his brain off like he usually could when he was on stage. All he heard was Michael’s cold threat for him to open the door, Jimmy calling him a frigid bitch, Eames practically begging him to come meet Idris. He did the bare minimum required, only managing a weak smile when offered tips.

It didn’t get any better when he was signaled over for a tip on the main stage, the stocky guy holding out a twenty dollar bill was decent enough looking aside from his heinous mustache and military cut just verging into “Flock of Seagulls” territory. He leaned in and indicated for Arthur, speaking quietly as he held up the note. 

“Is this enough?” the man asked, eyes darting nervously from side to side.

Arthur forced a smile, lips pursing. “It’s very generous, handsome, thank you.”

The guy’s eyes widened, again beckoning Arthur with a finger. “No, enough for the….” he let his voice trail off, shoulders shrugging as though his meaning should be perfectly clear. Arthur continued to be befuddled though, so the guy leaned in closer, almost close enough for Arthur to almost on reflex remind him of the ‘no touching’ rule.

“Your friend told me about your deal, twenty for a blowjob in the bathroom. It’s enough, right?”

Arthur felt the blood rush to his face, mortified at not only the proposition but that this man had expected him to say yes. “My friend?” he managed, stunned and too embarrassed to come up with some witty retort. He followed the direction the man indicated to see Jimmy eyeing him with a smirk, the other man going so far as to wave when Arthur caught his eye.

Arthur glanced down at the man, jaw clenching. “I’m not a fucking hooker,” he finally said, voice void of any seductive lilt. He knew he was just standing there, that he should be dancing, but he couldn’t make himself move for a moment. The man immediately snatched back his money, glancing back towards jimmy with confusion before mumbling a half hearted and mostly disappointed apology. He wasn’t sorry enough to leave an actual tip though, it seemed. 

As soon as his music began to dwindle, Arthur gathered his money and hurried off stage. He knew he should have waited until the song was completely over, but he felt heat prickling at the corners of his eyes and he’d be damned if he let those bastards see him cry. He wasn’t shocked when Ben came over to him while he put his money in his locker and told him that Browning wanted to see him. Arthur was certain the talk would involve the fact that this was a business, and Arthur moping around wasn’t going to make either one of them money. Normally Arthur would just nod and give Browning the attention and a smile the older man craved, but he just didn’t have the energy that night. 

He knocked on Browning’s door before entering, frowning when he found the room empty. He glanced over his shoulder and still didn’t see the man, but seeing as he had no desire to walk back into the throng of patrons he opted to wait in the office and closed the door. He sighed, the stale smell of Browning’s signature cigars still heavy in the room from his continued use. There was an open bottle of Jack on the side table, and as his heartbeat quickened and chest tightened he wanted nothing more than to down whatever was left, but in the end decided against it. 

Arthur moved to the desk and rested his hands on it, his head hanging between his shoulders. He tried to breathe deeply and calm himself, but knew he was reaching his limit. He’d held everything in for too long, but this moment of solitude brought the events from the previous weeks into startling clarity. He thought of the surprised look on the man's face when Arthur told him he wasn't a hooker, remembered the disappointment in Eames' face when he'd expressed his concern about Arthur giving up on looking for a teaching job, he thought about what a fool he'd been with Michael. Michael hadn’t really cared for him at all, he hadn’t even really tried to hide the truth from Arthur, Arthur had just been to stupid and infatuated to actually see it. 

He could see that little smirk Michael had made when he stroked Arthur’s cheek, the words “I can’t ask my wife to do that kind of stuff I do with you, babe,” repeating on a loop in his head. He thought of all the things he’d let Michael do which had humiliated him and made him uncomfortable, that he’d done because he thought Michael cared for him. He thought of Eames’ reaction when he’d told him, how the man barely seemed surprised, which made Arthur wonder if Eames thought that was something he would have knowingly done. The very idea that Eames could possibly see him in that light made Arthur nauseous. 

He sniffed hard, hot stinging tears welling up but sticking in his lashes. He tried to take a deep breath and get himself under control, but all he managed was a shaky exhale.

Arthur didn’t hear the office door open, nor did he hear anyone enter until broad hands rested warm on his shoulders. Arthur’s head jerked up, Eames’ name dying on his lips before it could spill out. He saw Browning behind him in the mirror, the man’s figure still recognizable through the unshed tears clouding his eyes. He dipped his head immediately, a ragged breath shuddering out of him as his fingers clenched against the desk before him. 

“Poor baby” Browning said, his voice low and husky. His thick hands felt good on Arthur’s shoulders as he rubbed his thumbs hard in soothing circles. Arthur’s muscles were tense, but the steady pressure began to wear him down, his shoulders slumping forwards again. He refused to meet the man’s eyes in the mirror, keeping his gaze downcast. Browning continued massaging him, grunting in sympathy as he took in the tears threatening to break free and the uncharacteristic tremble in Arthur’s jaw. 

Browning kept his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, right beside his neck. Arthur could feel the man lean down before the words “What can daddy do to make it better?” beat hot and wet against his skin. Dry lips pressed against the side of the Arthur’s throat. “You just tell daddy what you need...”

Arthur’s mouth opened, silent, intending to tell the man he wanted to be left alone, but all that spilled forth was a shaky breath. Browning’s warm mouth left a tingling trail of small kisses up the side of his neck until he reached just beneath Arthur’s ear, his hands sliding down Arthur’s chest as his teeth nipped at his throat. Arthur’s eyes drifted shut, the tears he’d been holding in forced free to slip down his cheeks. Browning hummed against his throat, the sound hovering between patronizing and sympathetic. His arms tightened about Arthur’s trim waist, pulling the younger man flush against him. 

The gentle kisses became firmer, the older man’s breathing deepening as Browning’s hands moved more freely. Arthur stood limp in his arms, head bowed down to hide both his tears and his face for fear Browning would try to kiss him. He felt cold in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He’d never accepted Browning’s advances before, and would never have thought that the smarmy club owner had anything to offer him other than a paycheck, but in this moment Arthur was just glad to be held. 

Arthur moaned involuntarily when Browning bit gently below his ear, the man tugging him backwards by the hips in response until his hard cock pressed against Arthur’s ass. One hand slipped down to Arthur’s crotch, kneading his soft cock through his microshorts. The muffled throbbing music from out in the club buzzed in Arthur’s ears as he stood there, his boss still kissing his neck, unable to voice either an encouragement or a complaint. He knew he shouldn’t be allowing this, that any other day or time he wouldn’t want this, but in that exact moment he just didn't want to say no. 

With deft hands, Browning had Arthur’s shorts pushed down his hips, the elastic material digging into the skin of his thighs and stretched to capacity. Arthur planted his palms on the desk, head bowed down as he panted. Browning was rubbing up against him now from behind, his own clothed erection grinding languidly between Arthur’s naked cheeks.

“No fucking,” Arthur quickly tossed over his shoulder, his voice a breathy pant when he felt the tip of a finger at his hole. 

Browning chuckled, rubbing the nape of Arthur’s neck as he guided him down until his cheek was pressed to the desktop. “Don’t you worry baby, that can wait til next time.” He rubbed the back of Arthur’s neck, effectively holding him in place as he squirted some lotion onto his fingers. Arthur shut his eyes tight as the first of the fingers began to push into him, uncomfortable but gentle. He was tense, body tight but worked open with patience and a skill which indicated this was hardly the first time Browning had offered such a service before. Soon he was working two fingers against Arthur’s prostate and Arthur was sighing, his lower back arching into the touch. 

Arthur’s fingers dug into the desk, allowing himself to give into the sensations and just go with it. The noises emitting from his mouth were unfamiliar to him, sounded like they shouldn’t belong to him. The pants and whimpers were too vulnerable, too submissive. He was arching and humping his hips with shameless abandon, the tears in his eyes drying on his lashes in clumps. Browning’s free hand pulled Arthur back up to lean against him, stroking his cock and kissing Arthur’s neck when he wasn’t offering rough words of encouragement. 

Browning found a spot that made Arthur’s whole body go rigid and worked it without mercy, gently holding Arthur’s slim throat so he couldn’t squirm away. Arthur closed his eyes to avoid looking at his own reflection, ashamed of the wanton display he was putting on. He came with a breathy cry, falling forward and panting open mouthed against the desk when Browning released him. His mind was fuzzy as he collected himself, the numbing orgasm slowly melting away while Arthur remained sprawled over the desk. When he could finally move again, he gingerly pulled his shorts back up, grimacing at the streaks of cum atop Browning’s desk and smeared over his own belly. 

Browning slumped heavily into his chair, gripping a still somewhat boneless Arthur about the waist and pulling him down into his lap. “There now, baby,” he said, his voice smooth with contentment. He was still hard, but made no move to take care of himself, nor gave Arthur indication he desired completion. Instead he reached forward and plucked a tissue from his desk, carefully wiping it across Arthur’s belly. “Did Daddy make you feel better?”

Arthur realized the man wanted an answer and managed a nod, his cheeks burning. He wanted to get the hell out of the office but wasn’t sure how to make his exit with any sort of decorum. He tensed a bit when Browning’s hand began to rub up and down his arm, but the older man just chuckled. 

“Don’t you worry about returning the favor,” he said, voice honey sweet. “Like I said, I take good care of my boys...you ever been with an older man before, sweetheart?”

Arthur shook his head, not trusting himself with words just yet. 

Browning made a pleased moan low in his throat, the hand sliding up and down Arthur’s thigh now. “Well that suits me just fine...you don’t worry about doing anything you don’t want to, Daddy always takes good care of his boys. You need a little rent money, want a night off, you just come right to me, you understand?”

“I’m not a hooker,” Arthur said flatly, slipping his feet down to the floor. 

Browning laughed, his head shaking in an amusement which made Arthur feel small and ridiculous. “Not at all, baby, not at all. I just like to pamper my boys, nothing makes me happier than making sure you’re taken care of and having fun.” Browning tipped Arthur up off his lap, giving his ass a little spank which made the younger man jump. “We can talk about it more this weekend, why don’t you take Friday off and have dinner with me. You like Indian food sweet cheeks?”

It was all happening too fast for Arthur to take in, so he just stood there like an idiot, his arms wrapped about him. This still didn’t deter Browning, who looked at Arthur like the sight was something he’d seem a million times before, and Arthur was beginning to realize that figure might not be so far off the mark. He’d heard the other dancers talk about “Peter’s boys,” but he had always just figured it was no strings attached sex. Now it was dawning on him that Browning, his fucking boss, thought that Arthur was going to enter into some sort of a relationship with him. 

For a moment, he actually considered it. Thought about letting the man pamper him for a few months until something new caught Browning’s eye. Letting himself be spoiled on his own terms with full knowledge on both sides that it wasn’t anything too serious. Of course Arthur hadn’t fallen quite so far that the idea didn’t still make him queasy. None his boyfriends had ever really pampered him before, but he didn’t like the idea of offering sex in exchange for rewards, and liked to think that was a low he’d never reach. Loathe as he was to admit that his boss who just fingerfucked him on his desk was actually quite skilled at said fingerfucking, he didn’t find the other man at all sexy or attractive.

“You just think about it and get back to me,” Browning said. “Take the rest of the night off, I’ll have Ben cover for you. You look like you’ve had a rough day.”

Arthur couldn’t bring himself to do anything but nod dumbly, letting Browning draw him close for a quick kiss and an ass grab. He managed a weak smile to get himself out the door, practically running into the dressing room. Arthur flushed red hot at a knowing look cast his way by a few of the other dancers, but he ignored them and managed to maintain some level of composure as he quickly dressed himself. He needed to get the fuck out of the club.

Arthur had always liked to be alone with his problems, preferring to sort his issues out on his own rather than make himself vulnerable to the judgement of others at his mistakes and shortcomings. At that moment though, the idea of an empty apartment and a bottle of Vodka to try and clear his head just sounded too depressing to even consider. Arthur was overcome by a bitter desperate loneliness he hadn’t felt since the death of his mother. He gripped the steering wheel, the engine humming as it tried to warm itself and the dashboard chiming with a nagging reminder to buckle his seatbelt. Arthur’s post-orgasmal high did nothing to ease the shame he felt, or that panic at how he'd ever manage to show his face at the club again, much less tell Browning he didn't want to be his little pet.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cold rim of the wheel as he breathed deeply. 

He needed Eames, needed his friend’s calming presence, his stupid jokes and his non-judgemental ear. He wanted Eames’ strong arms and warm chest against him, holding him close and making him feel safe and grounded. Wanted. 

Arthur sniffled, wiping the last of his tears away as he took out his phone. He dialed Eames’ number, almost relieved when he got the voicemail message. 

“Hi, it’s me….Arthur,” he said, swallowing to try and take some of the roughness out of his voice. “I know it’s late, and I don’t want to bug you, but I….I fucked up.” His voice cracked, wetness tingling at his eyes again. “I just let Browning fingerfuck me in his office. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking, I don’t even like him I just….I was so fucking lonely and he just - it just felt good and I didn’t tell him to stop, but then he started talking about me being his boy, and he takes care of his boys-” Arthur rubbed over his eyes, sighing deeply as he collected himself again. “I just thought if you were up I’d talk to you. Please don’t think less of me for this, I shouldn’t have even fucking called….fuck.” Arthur was horrified at the trainwreck of a voicemail he was leaving, tempted to just hang up the phone but not wanting Eames to worry any more than he was already likely to. “I should have called you when I was calmer. Sorry, I’ll talk to you later. Have a good day at work….love you.”

Arthur hung up, chastising himself for being such a complete incompetent mess. When had he lost all ability to function as a reasonable adult? He just prayed to whomever or whatever was listening that Eames wouldn’t think he’d gone completely insane and ignore him, or be too disgusted by his little escapade with Browning to look at him the same again. 

Worse, Eames could get the message and immediately drive to his apartment out of concern, and while Arthur wasn’t even sure which end was up at that moment, he was certain he was in no fit state to see the other man. In the end he pulled out his phone again, typing out a quick text. 

‘please delete that voicemail, don’t listen, I was being ridiculous.’ Then he added ‘nothing you did, I’m just being stupid.’ 

Arthur just hoped the other man checked his texts first. 

The whole drive home, Arthur kept checking his phone for any possible missed call or text from Eames, but he found nothing. With any luck, Eames had just deleted the message and would wait for a further explanation later. 

Arthur took a sleeping pill that night,. He hated taking the pills normally as they knocked him out cold and made him groggy the next day, but he was far too drained to risk not being able to get to sleep on his own. He could ruminate and feel like a complete idiot tomorrow, but now he just needed rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I didn't scar anyone too badly, don't run in horror just yet please! :D Eames is coming up next.


	17. Eames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Mostly done with the stuff that needs editing and writing chapters from scratch, so this took a bit longer than I wanted it to as this week was horribly busy. Bad news from RL didn't help either. :(

Eames

 

Eames groaned, glancing down at the almost empty coffee he clutched with remorse that he hadn’t gone for the larger size. He’d been with Idris the night before, the two of them staying up far too late ‘enjoying each other’s company’ so to speak. He knew he had a ridiculous hickey just below his shirt collar, and he hoped to christ that Frank didn’t notice it. 

He hadn’t been working at the gym very long, but each day he was able to open the gym and set it up for business, a pride Eames didn’t know he could possibly possess coursed through his veins. Despite the fact that the place was falling apart and smelled like an old jockstrap, and that Frank’s archaic check-in system was complicated and slow, Eames loved every minute of it. This was his third shift alone without Frank, and the old man still called to check in several times a day, but Eames could tell it was more out of habit than distrust of him, which only made him more proud. 

Once Eames got in and turned on all the lights, he checked the bathrooms and straightened the front desk before unlocking the front door for business. Then he pulled out his list.

Ever since the first shift he’d worked with Frank, Eames had started a list of repairs and updates the gym desperately needed. He had no idea what Frank would let him do, but he figured that any general improvements he could make would only help him plead his case for the more heavy duty ones. He wanted Frank to know he’d made the right decision in trusting him. 

About an hour later, the phone rang, and when Eames answered it was predictably Frank, checking on his baby of a business. The conversation was short and sweet, as it usually was. Was anyone there? Did Eames make sure to check their name with the due date of their monthly fee? Did he make sure the video camera behind the desk was on? Eames couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his thick mouth when he hung up the phone, glancing over to check on the gym’s only other occupant who was currently running on the ancient treadmill. 

The day progressed without much excitement, only a small handful of men coming to the gym, most of them older and sticking to the hanging bags. Eames couldn’t help but notice that as the day went on, the foot traffic outside only intensified until there was a steady stream of people passing the windows, most notably the packs of teenagers wandering past in the mid afternoon. Surely there was some way to get more people into the gym, he just had to think of an angle. 

Later in the afternoon the foot traffic died down, and Eames finally relented and decided to pass some time with Candy Crush. Before he could get too caught up in his current obsession, Eames noticed he had some missed text messages. Idris didn’t really like to text, so even before opening them Eames knew they were from Arthur. 

Eames winced, staring down at the text message icon and realizing he’d been a terrible friend the last week or so. They hadn’t talked much since he told Arthur he was leaving the club, even though he had a gut feeling that the younger man had taken the news hard. As he pressed the message button, Eames just prayed that Arthur wasn’t upset with him. 

The texts didn’t do much to ease his mind. 

‘please delete the voicemail, don’t listen, I was being ridiculous’

Eames didn’t remember missing a call from Arthur, but the texts were from late the previous night. He quickly went to his voicemail folder, surprised to see there was in fact a message from Arthur he hadn’t listened to yet, a message which the other man didn’t want him to hear. He was torn, on the one hand wanting to respect his friend’s wishes, but on the other he worried that he’d done something to upset Arthur, and worried that Arthur wouldn’t be forthcoming if he asked him directly. After a moment of deliberation, Eames decided to play it, needing to know what Arthur could have possibly said.

He wasn’t prepared for how broken Arthur was, the hitch in his breath as he almost sobbed “I...I fucked up.” Eames fingers tightened around his phone as he listened, his jaw clenched tight as the room around him faded, and all he could hear was Arthur saying “I just let Browning fingerfuck me in his office. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking, I don’t even like him I just….I was so fucking lonely and he just-”

Eames jerked the phone from his ear, nostrils flaring as he turned the message off. He couldn’t do more than stand and stare vacantly, Arthur’s words looping in his head. “In his office, I was so lonely, I let Browning.” He could see Browning bending Arthur over the desk, forcing Arthur onto his knees while working his own belt open with his free hand. Eames clenched his jaw so tight he was surprised his teeth didn’t crack when he imagined Browning crowding Arthur against a wall, telling him how beautiful he was as he slid a hand down the back of Arthur’s shorts, kissing him as he worked a finger into him. 

Eames had to put his phone down before he broke it, his nostrils flared in anger as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. Why had he listened to that fucking message, why couldn’t he have left well enough alone? Now all he could see was the satisfied smirk on Peter Browning’s leathery fucking face, see him lick his lips while he fucked into Arthur with his fingers, telling a writhing breathless Arthur that if he liked that so much he’d love his cock. 

“Fuck!” Eames shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls of the empty gym. “Fuck!” 

He stalked towards a hanging bag, letting it fly with the brunt force of his punch. He pounded the bag with his fists, teeth bared in rage at the images parading in his mind. Browning had a hard on for Arthur since day one, but Arthur? What the fuck had Arthur been thinking? How could he stand to let that old man touch him, let him fuck him? It may not have been full on sex but it was intimate enough. Browning barely deserved to look at Arthur, and Eames wanted nothing more than to haul ass right over to Club Fisch and beat that old bastard until his face caved in.

Eames’ head whipped over as the door chimed, a guy about his age with a shaved head and neck tattoo glancing from Eames to the vacated front desk. 

“You work here?” he asked tentatively.

Eames nodded, relaxing from his previous hunched stance and shaking his arms out as he ambled back towards the desk. He could feel sweat trickling down his face and was sure he looked an absolute mess. This was only confirmed when the guy stared at him with raised brows, quiet while Eames looked his name up in one of Frank’s massive checkin books before finally asking “You alright, man?”

Eames nodded, “Just peachy,” he ground out as he finished the check-in process. The guy seemed only too happy to mind his own business after that thankfully, so Eames took a moment to compose himself. He still had a few hours left on his shift before Frank’s only other employee, the fair weather Randall, arrived so he had to get his shit together and not fuck things up for himself in the meantime. 

A few deep breaths and some tidying later, Eames finally walked over to the guy to ask after him and ensure he had everything he needed. 

“I was actually wondering if you guys did classes?” the guy asked. “I was going to join Lifetime but this place is more in my price-range-” his voice trailed off sheepishly, glancing up at Eames like he was scared to get the same treatment Eames had offered the punching bag before. 

Eames rested his hands on his hips, offering a tense smile to take some of the edge off. “We don’t at the moment,” he admitted. “But I was actually trying to gauge an interest in some personal training or boxing classes. If you leave your name and number I can call you if it ever gets ok-ed by the owner.”

The guy nodded, though his disappointment at not having anything immediate was obvious. When the guy went back to his workout, Eames ambled back to his desk, opening the notebook he kept his renovation lists in and added a memo to himself to talk to Frank. 

The little distractions at the gym were enough to get his mind somewhat off of Arthur, but the second he left, everything slowly came creeping back. Eames’ posture was rigid as he drove to Idris’ house as he’d done every day thus far after his shift. His free arm was propped against the door with his fist resting by his mouth, fingers clenching as he once again heard Arthur’s desperate voice in his head. He put the radio on, trying to calm himself back down and drown out the thoughts which invaded him.

By the time he got to Idris’ house, he was a coiled spring of nerves, tense and ready to burst. He’d called Arthur several times in the car without answer, a fact which did nothing for Eames’ already frayed nerves. He hoped to go in and shower, relieve a little tension with some hot water and solitude, before having to explain things to Idris, but when he opened the front door he found his boyfriend reading on the couch in prime position to look up and see him.

“What’s wrong?” Idris immediately asked, brows furrowed in concern. 

Eames shook his head, lips a hard line. “It’s nothing,” he said.

Idris straightened, looking more worried now. “Did something happen?” he asked. “Everything go ok at work?”

Eames sighed, hands going to his hips and head bowed as he told himself to just keep his mouth shut, make some excuse and go shower before he exploded. 

“Bob,” Idris said, Eames’ old nickname name catching him off guard. 

Eames pulled his phone out, waving it to the other man. “Arthur called me some time last night,” he said, voice tight. “He fucking slept with my old boss from the club, Browning. Apparently, he let that slimy old bastard fingerfuck him in his office while he was working last night. Can you fucking believe it? What the fuck was he thinking? Why the fuck would he let that old pervert touch him?”

Idris looked up at Eames, somewhat bewildered, his elbows resting on knees. “Did he say why he did it?”

Eames nodded emphatically, the words spilling out faster than he realized he was forming them. “He was fucking lonely, he said. Can you believe that shit? Lonely! I think you and I have been pretty lonely at times in our lives, but I’ve never fucked someone old enough to be my father because of it. Arthur doesn’t even like him for christsake; he used to tell me how much he hated Browning hitting on him, that it grossed him out. I swear to god, if I find out that motherfucker actually forced him, I’ll fucking kill him.”

Idris pursed his lips. “Did Arthur actually say he was forced?”

Eames shrugged, tossing the phone to the other man. “It’s the first voicemail, listen to it.” He crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight from hip to hip as Idris listened, his eyes narrowing when Arthur’s muffled voice came over the speaker.

“What the fuck is wrong with him, he hasn’t said one word about being unhappy to me, and then he just goes and does this shit? He knows he can tell me anything, if he was this lonely I would have been there for him.”

Idris stared up at Eames as he listened, both to the message and Eames’ tirade. “He didn’t say anything about this man forcing him,” Idris said, deadpan. “It just sounds like he regrets it.”

“Isn’t that the same thing though?” Eames asked, volume of his voice rising as he spoke. “Browning knew Arthur wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot fucking pole, probably thought it was bloody Christmas when Arthur even let him close to him. No wonder he was so happy to get me this new job, couldn’t wait to get me out of the fucking picture so he could make his move.”

Idris raised a hand again, squinting as he listened to the rest of the message. His eyes flashed back up to Eames, dark with an emotion Eames might have caught if he wasn’t already so strung out. “And you listened to this whole message?” he asked, his tone pointed. 

Eames shook his head. “Didn’t want to hear any more, got so angry I almost broke my phone. I know Browning may be used to getting what he wants but he had to right to touch Arthur-”

Idris stared at Eames, not blinking. “Actually,” he said in a clipped tone. “If Arthur gave him permission he had every right. From the sound of this, Arthur was lonely and sad and things just heated up, he feels embarrassed he let it get that far but- sometimes lonely people turn to unlikely sources.”

“But Arthur wouldn’t do that,” Eames insisted again, hand waving emphatically. “He wouldn’t lower himself like that, and someone like Peter fucking Browning doesn’t deserve to pat the hair on Arthur’s head.”

“Because Arthur’s a saint right?” Idris asked, the words bitter. “Which is he, Eames, the perfect angel or the stupid little boy who can’t make his own decisions?”

Eames squinted at Idris, physically taking a step back at the blunt force of the other man’s words. “What the fuck are you going on about?” he asked. 

Idris stood now, Eames’ phone still clutched in one hand as he crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “You can pretend all you want Arthur was forced if it helps you stomach the idea, but it sounds from his own words that in the moment, he wanted it.”

“But from him?” Eames asked, spitting the word out. “Of all fucking people?”

Idris’ eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you mad about, Eames?”

Eames opened his arms, exasperated. “You seriously can’t tell?”

“No,” Idris said, shaking his head slightly. “Why do you care so much that Arthur turned to this man, or that he made a mistake. He’s only human, and as his friend I could see you commiserating with him, inviting him over for a beer and tell him your own tales of woe, but why are you so bloody upset? I feel for the poor guy, he sounds upset and embarrassed, but embarrassment’s not going to kill him is it. So what, ‘Eames’, is making you ‘so’ angry, hmm?” He was standing so close, his arms and his head tilted down so he could look Eames dead in the eye. 

Eames was at a loss for what to say when he realized Idris actually wanted an answer, a specific answer which Eames had not yet divulged but the other man seemed quite set upon heading. He felt sheepish under the hard gaze, the anger he still felt simmering in his gut while he tried to calm down and think of how else to make himself understood.

Idris took a step closer, so close that Eames could feel the cool bursts of breath from the other man’s nose. “Out with it then, Eames...are you mad that he fooled around with this old man, or just that it was with someone other than you?”

Eames’ brows knit, his jaw clenching as he jerked back and stared at his old friend and current partner. He felt a cold knife through him as he realized the anger in Idris’ eyes, finally heard the bitterness in his tone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in a hushed tone, staring down at the floor. 

Idris scoffed, eyes rolling and looking more like Eames remembered him at 17, hard and impervious to the bullshit of others. “Don’t play that with me, sunshine. You care cause Arthur fucked someone else and not you, cause you’re fucking in love with him.”

Eames glared at him, wanted to tell him he was wrong but all he could do was stand there. He looked down again instead, not wanting to see the resigned sadness in Idris’ eyes. “I’m not-” he tried, the words catching useless in his throat even before Idris cut him off.

“Oh stop, I really don’t want to hear it.” Idris groaned. “It’s been painfully obvious since the beginning that you were in love with him; I thought I could handle, that you’d get over it eventually when we got more serious, but I can see now that you wont.” Idris stopped, sighing as his head drooped down, some of the wind going out of his sails. He just looked tired then, his shoulders slumped in resignation. 

The weight of Idris’ words pressed down on Eames, guilt twisting his gut as he swallowed down the empty denial he wanted to voice. Instead he cleared his throat, eyes fixed on the floor. “I thought I’d get over him when he was with Michael, I wanted to get over him.”

When Eames dared to look up again, he saw Idris’ eyes were getting red. “Did you ever actually want to be with me, or were you just biding your time?” The words set light to a vulnerability Eames had never seen in Idris before. His usual confidence seemed stripped from him, and it pained Eames to wonder how long the other man had been hurting like this and he just hadn’t noticed. 

Eames shook his head, reaching forward to take his friend by the back of the neck and draw their foreheads together. “I always wanted you,” he said, letting Idris feel his sincerity. “You were all I wanted when we were kids, you were my first everything. It meant something then, and it does now.”

“But you want him more.”

The words hung between them, neither needing confirmation from the other to know they were true. 

Eames sighed, letting his head fall but keeping his hold on the other man, needing the contact. “It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t love me that way. I’ll get over him, I just need some time.”

Idris pushed him back, shaking his head. He took a deep breath, his hands on his hips as he glanced off at nothing. His finger tapped against his belt in a seeming moment in indecision. “Did you listen to the whole message then?” he asked, eyes glassy. 

Eames shook his head. “It made me sick; had to turn it off.”

Idris looked down at the phone for a good moment before finally extending it to Eames. Eames accepted it carefully, wanting to touch the other man but knowing the contact would not be welcome in the moment. He pocketed the phone, waiting for Idris to speak again. 

Idris sighed, brushing at his eyes with the tips of his fingers. “Well before you go and see him, listen to the whole thing. You might find it illuminating.”

“I’m so-” Eames started, stepping closer. 

Idris backed away, his raised hands stopping Eames dead in his tracks. “Not now, Eames. Maybe in the future, but not now.”

Eames nodded. “Can I call you?” he asked.

Again Idris shook his head. “I need some space.”

Eames understood, though it gutted him. He did care for the other man, still was attracted to him and longed to keep him in his life, but he supposed he’d earned his little exile. He should have been more honest from the beginning, both with himself and Idris, but the damage was done. He’d wait though, if it meant a possibility of having his best mate back in his life, Eames would wait for as long as it took. He offered the other man a warm smile in place of an embrace. “I hope to hear from you, no matter how long it takes.”

Idris returned the smile, almost reaching to touch Eames before tucking his hands safely in his pockets. He watched Eames turn and leave without another word

With one last look back at the cozy little house, Eames got back into his truck. His heart still beat rapidly from what he’d admitted, from being found out, from still being fucking angry about the voicemail even if he had no right to as Idris had said. Reasonable or not, Eames was still baffled by Arthur’s decision, and at the same time both wanting to delete his number and drive straight to his apartment. Eames didn’t even have to try to know he’d never be able to delete Arthur from his phone or his life though, so instead he made a split last second decision and turned the old truck towards Arthur’s apartment instead of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to get done! Couldn't look at it anymore, so I hope it was ok. Arthur's up next! It's going to be a big one :D


	18. Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg guys, SO SORRY this took so long. I was out of town and then had so much RL crap that this was hard as hell to get done. Probably needs more editing, but I'm posting it now cause it's taken this damn long. So sorry again!

Arthur

 

Arthur started at the sound of his ringtone, reaching blindly towards the coffee table for his phone. He’d fallen asleep on the couch, hardly the first time he’d done so that week, and didn’t bother looking at the caller ID before answering. “Hello?”

“Hey there sweet thing.”

It was Browning. 

Arthur immediately sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and swallowing down the roughness in his voice. “Oh….hi...I’m so sorry, was I supposed to work tonight?” 

Browning chuckled, a low husky sound which sank right into Arthur’s gut like a stone. He drew his legs up against him, free arm tucked about his knees as the older man offered him a bemused hum. 

“Did I wake you up?” Browning asked, not in the least bit apologetic. 

“Yeah,” Arthur admitted, quickly following it with “didn’t mean to sleep this long.”

“I bet you’re adorable when you’re groggy,” Browning said. “You not sleeping well, honey?”

Arthur sighed, too exhausted to play coy. “No,” he confessed. “But I’ll be ready for work tomorrow night, I promise.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Browning said, voice like honey. “You take the night off, get caught up on some sleep. Just called to check in on you, see if you needed anything. I give one hell of a back massage if you want to unwind…you sure enjoyed the last massage I gave you-” 

The older man let his voice trail off, and Arthur felt the flush rise in his face as he vividly remembered the prostate massage he’d received at his last shift. He was beyond grateful that the mortification this memory induced was restricted to the isolated confines of his apartment. He’d had enough public embarrassment to last him some time. 

“I’m fine, thanks,” Arthur forced out, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. “Nothing a little sleep won't fix. I will take that night off though, if you’re sure that’s ok.”

“Absolutely,” Browning insisted, hardly seeming bothered by the refusal or Arthur’s clipped tone. “Like I said before Arthur, I take good care of my boys. You just get your beauty rest and think about where you want to eat Friday, sky’s the limit.”

Arthur swallowed, curling in on himself against the couch with the phone still clutched to his ear. He nibbled the side of his thumb, nausea eating at him as he struggled for some kind of an answer. That part of him that wanted to say yes came creeping back, telling him to pick the most expensive restaurant he could find just to see if the older man would actually rise to the occasion; to let himself be wined and dined. Did he dare to give Browning the chance to seduce him and earn his affections, which so far he had freely given to men he was besotted with but still ended up alone and depressed. 

“I don’t know,” he said finally, voice small with his indecision. 

Browning chuckled again, still so self assured it was unnerving. “What’s to know, baby? Not like whatever you’ve been trying so far has been working out so well for you if those tears were any indication. Something go wrong with our resident ex-con, Eames?”

Arthur stilled, hands suddenly clammy. He’d certainly never verbalized to Browning or anyone else in the club what his and Eames’ relationship had been, he himself never really knew what it was. The question felt like a test, like Browning himself was digging for information. “Eames?” he asked, the name resting heavy on his heart. “No, we were never together….he’s got a boyfriend, actually.”

“Ah,” Browning’s tone was neutral, but Arthur could hear the delight interwoven with it. “He break your heart, baby?”

This time Arthur didn’t respond, though he had the impression he didn’t need to.

“You don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” Browning cooed. “Daddy will sort that all right out and spoil you rotten, maybe if I do a good enough job you can spoil me some too, hmmm?” 

Arthur’s throat tingled where Browning had kissed him, the small bruise right below his ear throbbing at the memory of the older man’s teeth. He tightened his grip on his phone, burying his head in his free hand. He couldn’t help but remember being bent over the desk, open mouth panting hard as deft fingers moved over his prostate. He imagined walking out of an exclusive restaurant, tipsy on three hundred dollar champagne, the older man’s arm wrapped proudly about his waist. Could he bring himself to coo over something clever Browning said, sit in his lap at the club and call him ‘daddy’, accept the offered massages and the intimate touches that went with them? Would he simper as Browning would want him to while the older man pressed his legs apart and settled atop him?

No, Arthur wasn’t quite ready to imagine sex with Browning, though he had to admit the rest had a certain appeal. He may never be able to look himself in the mirror again if he actually uttered the word ‘daddy’, but who wouldn’t enjoy being doted on?

“You get some rest,” Browning said, the cadence of his voice akin to a pat on the head. “We’ll talk Friday.”

“Ok,” Arthur managed, voice thick.

“Sweet dreams,” Browning said before hanging up. 

Arthur just sat there for some time, staring at the now darkened screen of his phone. He was awash with confusion and indecision, feeling quite alone as he glanced around at his empty apartment. When exactly had he become this pathetic?

Just as he was in the process of curling back against the couch and returning to his coma, there was a knock at the door.

When he first heard the knock, Arthur sat up with a shot from the couch, eyes fixed on the door in panic. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and despite the fact that he hadn’t heard from Michael since he’d ignored his last text, Arthur still worried it could be him. His building security had never been the best, and until the events with Michael he’d never really minded, but at that moment he really regretted not bitching to the superintendent about the sticky front door that didn’t always latch. 

The knock came again, harder this time and Arthur swallowed as he summoned the courage to stand. He moved quietly, creeping towards the door so he could look out the peep hole. He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Eames, and although he wasn’t in the mood for company he opened the door.

Eames stood in the hallway with his hands on his hips, tensing when he saw Arthur. Arthur felt quite foolish standing there in nothing but his boxers and a massive sweater, but he supposed Eames had seen him in less. The past few days he’d been lounging, only bothering to finally shower the night before. He tried to tame his hair, running his fingers through the rumpled mess atop his head, sure he looked quite a state. 

“Hey,” he said sheepishly, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. He hoped that Eames had gotten his text messages and ignored the voicemail, the memory of the sloppy message causing a flush to creep up his neck. “It’s good to see you,” he said, and it was. He hadn’t seen Eames for almost two weeks, their conflicting schedules making it harder for them to see each other, and Eames’ current relationship of course didn’t make it any easier.

When Eames stepped forward Arthur moved aside to let him in, flushing under the intensity of the gaze Eames surveyed him with, like the other man was looking for something. “You look tired,” Eames finally said, indicating the circles under Arthur’s eyes without actually touching him. They usually hugged or touched in some way when they greeted each other, and the lack of physical contact felt odd and hung heavy between them.

Arthur shrugged, forcing a chuckle of acknowledgment at his current state. “Yeah, I’ve not been sleeping well, been really lazy the last few days.” He backed away from Eames then, going to the fridge as an excuse to get some space between them so he didn’t have to look at the worry and concern lacing his friend’s gaze. “You want a drink?” he tossed over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, I think I need one,” Eames huffed, ambling further into Arthur’s apartment. 

Arthur dug through the fridge, managing to find a few beers which had survived his recent binging sessions. He thought Eames would find his way to the couch but when he turned the other man was leaning against the doorway, eyes narrowed slightly as he examined him. Arthur hated it, unable to read what was going through his friend’s head and uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “How’s work?” he asked, handing Eames a beer.

“Good,” Eames said, idly playing with the bottle. He stared at Arthur another moment before taking a long drink, downing about half the bottle in one go. 

Arthur understood then. He wasn’t stupid, and while he might be tired and sluggish, he could see the underlying flash of pain and frustration in Eames’ eyes. It was a look Arthur had seen before, but never directed at him. It made him feel small, but then the bitterness set in as he said “you listened to it.”

While he was mostly disappointed, there was an underlying anger in his voice which Eames immediately responded to. His eyes narrowed, hands up defensively as he tried to offer an explanation.

“You fucking listened to it,” Arthur said again cutting him off, ashamed at himself and angry at Eames though he knew it was unjustified. He groaned, his head falling back and beer set unopened on the counter. “Did you not see my texts, or just not care enough to respect them.”

“Hold on,” Eames said quickly, brow furrowed. “Just wait a moment, this had nothing to do with respect-”

“Of course it did,” Arthur cut in. “I asked you point blank not to listen to that message, it was a big mistake leaving it, I just wasn’t in my right mind-”

“I’d say,” Eames cut in, voice husky and biting, deceptively calm. “You’d have to be out of your bloody mind to let that old bastard fuck you.”

Arthur went cold at the words, feeling as though physically slapped by the disgust in Eames’ eyes and tone; stopped in his tracks by Eames’ judgement. He wrapped his arms over his chest, enveloped in his sweater but still wishing he had more fucking clothes on. “He didn’t fuck me,” he forced out, hating the waiver in his voice. 

Eames laughed now, the sound hollow as he rolled his eyes, tossing his beer bottle none-too-gently into Arthur’s trashcan. “Oh, right...pardon me for mincing details, Arthur. He just finger fucked you in his office, right?”

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” Arthur said, exasperated. “I knew you wouldn’t understand, you should have just listened to the texts.”

Eames stepped forward at that, closing the gap between them. “I would have understood anything, everything.” His hard gaze softened a bit then, his eyes rounding as they looked into Arthur for answers Arthur apparently wasn’t giving. “I don’t understand you turning to him of all fucking people...you think he’s disgusting.” Eames moved closer still until he was right before Arthur, boxing him in against the countertop. Arthur warred with the instinct to push Eames away, only looking up at the other man again when Eames caught him gently by the chin and forced his eyes up. 

Arthur glared at him, fingers curling into the sweater around his arms as he jerked his face from Eames’ grasp. He clenched his jaw as he searched Eames’ eyes for any sign of his usual compassion and empathy and came up wanting. He didn’t even know what to say to Eames in the moment, his friend seemed a virtual stranger in his vitriolic stare. “It wasn’t like that,” he bit out. “You don’t understand, there’s been so much going on, and I just needed someone and he was there. I was fucking depressed, everything’d gone to shit and I just needed someone-”

“Do you honestly think he cares about you, Arthur?” Eames asked, his thick lips hovering scant inches from Arthur’s own. “He just wanted to fuck you, and once he’s tired of fucking you he’ll move on to someone else. He doesn’t love you-”

This time Arthur did push Eames away, mouth twisting angrily as he struggled for space from the other man. “He was fucking there unlike you, you asshole!” he shouted defensively. 

Eames had his arms crossed over his chest now, his thick muscles straining against his shirt. He stared down his nose at Arthur, practically shaking with the effort to keep himself still. “Do you seriously think I wasn’t there for you?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “I’d do fucking anything for you, Arthur.”

“You weren’t there!” Arthur accused, not caring how childish he sounded and in the moment wanting Eames to feel as small and foolish as he did. He levered himself against the counter and pushed against Eames’ hard chest with all his might. “You were too busy.”

Eames let himself be pushed, staggering back a step but keeping his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You never said anything,” he insisted, the words ground out between clenched teeth.

“I never said anything to him either, but he still noticed” Arthur spat. “I gave my former fucking student’s dad a lapdance, my boyfriend ended up being married and punched holes in my fucking door when I tried to kick him out, and my best friend was nowhere; I was a fucking mess. Don’t you dare fucking judge me for this thing with Browning, Eames. He saw me crying and comforted me.” 

“I hardly call getting knuckle deep in your ass ‘comfort’, darling” Eames sneered, making Arthur want to slug him. 

“At least Peter shows interest and actually wants to be with me, which is more than I can say for anyone else,” Arthur countered.

Eames’ normally plush mouth formed a hard grim line both at both Browning’s first name and Arthur’s implication. “That what you want then?” he asked, the muscles in his folded arms corded with tension as he took an unconscious step forward. “Some old geezer who needs a pill to get it up?” 

Despite the venom dripping from Eames’ voice, Arthur could see the confidence draining from his eyes, and he couldn’t help but take whatever advantage he could at regaining the upper hand. He tilted his head back, looking down his nose at Eames and letting his voice go low and husky. “He wants to date me, you know,” he said, staring Eames dead in the eye as he spoke. “Wants to take care of me, I might even let him.” He couldn’t help but smirk at how Eames’ eyes narrowed at that. “He knew what he was doing...made me cum so hard-”

Eames pushed him away then, not to hurt him but to create distance. He was breathing hard, his intense gaze unblinking, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He looked about to burst, and while perversely pleased with himself for rattling the other man, Arthur was completely at a loss for extent of Eames’ reaction. “What do you even care who I date or who I fuck?” he asked, a lump rising in his throat. 

Eames snorted at that, pulling at his own hair in frustration. “You are so fucking emotionally stunted-”

“Me?” Arthur asked, brows knit in accusation. “You’re the one who’s mad at me for sleeping with someone when you have a fucking boyfriend, asshole!” 

“Not anymore.”

The confession caught Arthur off guard, the words he was about to say dying on the tip of his tongue. He just stared, willing himself not to read too far into this little revelation. 

Eames let his head drop now, leaving it hanging a moment while he shifted his stance. His jaw was so tense that his mouth barely moved as he spoke, but his shoulders drooped as some of the fight left him. He stood with his hands on his hips, finally looking at Arthur with surprising vulnerability. “He left me.”

Arthur was taken aback by that, his face softening. He was too blindsided by the news to know what to say, his hands idly curling into the too long sleeves of his sweater. Eames had seemed so happy with Idris, and by all accounts the feelings had been mutual. He was torn between his desire to be there for his best friend and the lingering anger which demanded he remain callous. “What?” he finally managed to force out.

“He broke up with me,” Eames said again, firmly this time. “He heard your little voicemail”

Arthur blanched, horrified that anyone else had heard his little breakdown. He didn’t even want to look at Eames then, didn’t even want to be in the same room with him anymore. He tried to push past Eames and leave the kitchen, but Eames was crowding him back against the counter before he could get away. He burned under Eames’ gaze, too embarrassed and riddled with guilt to look at the other man. “That’s not what I wanted,” he finally said in a hushed tone. 

“He broke it off cause I’m in love with you.”

Arthur’s head shot up at the words. “What?”

Eames reached forward now, broad hands gentle on either side of Arthur’s neck, his thumbs brushing over his jaw. “I fucking love you” he said, lips hovering scant inches from Arthur’s. 

Arthur was too overwhelmed by everything to do anything more than surge forward and cover Eames’ plush mouth with his own. He wrapped his arms around the man’s thick neck, moaning in delight when Eames wrapped those massive arms around him. When Eames gripped his ass and lifted him onto the counter, Arthur immediately spread his legs and dragged Eames closer by the front of his shirt. He opened his mouth for Eames’ tongue, brushed his own against it. 

They were both breathing hard then, the hands Eames slid under Arthur’s sweater warm against his skin. Their teeth clicked together when Eames dragged him closer by his hips, and Arthur couldn’t stop the breathy moan that broke free when the bulge of Eames’ erection brushed behind his balls. Fuck, he’d missed making out with Eames; missed his thick lips, scratchy stubble and fat cock. 

Arthur’s head fell back against the cabinets as Eames dragged those crooked teeth over his jaw, mouthing hot and wet against his skin to his throat. He felt Eames still them, felt his fingers brush over the mark Browning had left on him. Arthur let his head fall back, worrying his lower lip as he watched Eames’ expression shift between several emotions. 

“He’s never touching you again,” Eames said finally, voice like gravel. “I want to hear you say it. He never gets to have you.”

Arthur shook his head, kissing the side of Eames’ mouth. “He wont, I swear,” he said. “I don’t want him.” When Eames’ brow was still knit in frustration, Arthur slid a hand down into Eames’ sweatpants, humming contentedly when his fingers wrapped around the hot swollen flesh of Eames’ cock. Eames’ jaw fell slack as Arthur stroked him, squeezing just enough to make him groan.

“And this is mine,” he purred, nipping Eames’ lower lip before flicking the tip of his tongue over the reddened skin. “No one else gets this but me, understand?”

Eames nodded, his cheeks flushing as Arthur flicked his wrist. “Fuck...Arthur….” He gripped Arthur by the back of the neck then, pulling him down into a heated and wet kiss. Arthur felt himself being dragged forwards again, Eames’ spare hand pushing down the back of his boxers before the tip of an insistent finger pushed into him. He gasped at the touch, Eames taking full advantage of his lax open mouth. 

Arthur could do little more than bite his fist as Eames fingered him, the dry penetration beyond intense but not too painful. The Englishman worked his prostate unforgivingly until Arthur could barely breath, his stomach clenching and body shying away from the over-stimulation. 

Eames’ teeth were back on the mark Browning had left, his hot mouth sucking over it. “Gonna fuck you so good you won't remember his name,” Eames hissed into his ear, his fingers curling into the waistband of Arthur’s boxers before dragging them down his slim hips. He was holding Arthur’s thighs then, pulling him forward until his ass was perched at the very edge of the counter with his sweater bunched up around his ribs. 

Arthur felt a shiver rush through him as he watched Eames split into his palm, a chorus of ‘yes yes yes yes yes’ running through his head and pushing past any sort of sensible objection he should have come up with. When Eames tried to push in it was so tight they both cried out, Arthur’s head smacking back against the cabinets. Eames tried again, adding more spit and groaning aloud as he got another inch or so inside. 

“Christ Arthur, you’re so fucking tight-” Eames was panting, brows furled in concentration as he pulled out and tried again. 

“Fuck, Eames,” Arthur gasped, his knees locking about the other man’s hips in an attempt to stop him. “Hurts...fuck it hurts too bad, we need lube or you’ll tear me.”

Eames nodded, reaching past Arthur for a ceramic dish and holding it up for approval, but all he got in return was a pointed glare.

“You’re not putting butter up my ass,” Arthur snapped. 

Eames groaned, opening a cupboard to find an alternative solution, both of them in too much of a hurry to go hunting for lube in the bedroom. He smiled triumphantly, holding up a different bottle, which Arthur rolled his eyes at but didn't object to when the other man dribbled it onto his fingers. Eames would use Trader Joe’s Extra Virgin Olive Oil to defile Arthur on his otherwise pristine countertops. He’d have to Google this later, and just hope it wouldn’t give him a horrible infection...

Arthur stopped caring though when slick fingers pushed into him, the oil easing the way until he was slumped back against the cabinets, panting as he rolled his hips in time with Eames’ fingers. This time when Eames pushed his cock balls deep they both groaned, Arthur’s fingers twining in Eames’ hair. Eames had one arm wrapped about Arthur’s wait and the other braced against the cabinets as he his thrusts grew harder, the thigh he had pushed for leverage against a drawer rattling the silverware inside. 

It was messy and inelegant, more desperate than either would care to admit, but at the moment neither could be bothered. Arthur knew he was moaning like a whore, his abs burning as he tried to shift his hips to meet Eames’ harsh thrusts and his ass sore from digging into the edge of the counter, but he still bit his lip and begged “not yet” on repeat when he felt Eames’ starting to lose rhythm.

Arthur kept one hand fisted in Eames’ hair as the other pushed between their bellies to get at his own rigid prick. He was so close it almost hurt, Eames’ cockhead nudging past his prostate and his own fingers gently squeezing his swollen balls driving him ever closer to orgasm. His eyes clenched shut as Eames came, the heat released inside him making Arthur’s eyelids flutter. 

Eames only stood panting for a spare second before dropping to his knees, dragging Arthur’s smooth thighs over his shoulders. He carefully mouthed one of Arthur’s balls, hot tongue brushing over the delicate skin as he slipped two fingers back inside of Arthur. “Fuck” he panted in reverence, nuzzling against Arthur’s cock. “You’re so wet inside.”

Heat shot through Arthur like that, his hands desperately gripping at the counter to hold himself in place as those fat lips closed over the head of his cock while Eames’ fingers worked inside him. Arthur let his head fall back as he felt the wetness seeping out of him around Eames’ fingers, surrendering himself to the warm mouth and prostate stimulation until he was bucking his hips and cuming. 

Arthur melted back into the cabinets, unaware of everything until he came out of his fog enough to feel Eames boxing him in with his massive arms, his kiss swollen mouth gentle on the overheated skin of Arthur’s shoulder. 

“If I had my way, no one else would even look at you,” he said, voice low and strained, like he didn’t want to admit it. Arthur just wrapped his arms around him and held him close while they both regained their breath.

Once they both had their clothes back on, Arthur led Eames back to the bathroom. He’d have to bleach the ever loving shit out of the counters tomorrow, but for the time being all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed with his man. When they got to the bedroom, Arthur realized Eames hadn’t followed him in, and was instead still in the hallway, inspecting the door. When he went back to join him, Arthur found Eames brushing his fingertips over the cracks in his door from where Michael had tried to put his fists through. 

“I’m so sorry,” Eames murmured, his face twisted with regret. “I should have been there.”

Arthur shook his head, his cheek resting against Eames’ stocky shoulder as he rubbed down his arms in reassurance. “You didn’t know,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”

Eames turned, the arms he wrapped around Arthur’s waist almost lifting him off the ground. Eames held him so tight Arthur could barely breathe, but he carded fingers through Eames’ hair to soothe the other man, remind him that he was ok. 

\- - - - 

Eames

Later that night, while Arthur slept like the dead with his slack mouth open against the pillow, Eames reached down into his discarded jeans to find his mobile phone. 

Much as he wanted to delete Arthur’s voicemail now that they had cleared the air and gotten together, Eames couldn’t help but remember Idris’ suggestion he listen to the whole message. After carefully checking one last redundant time that Arthur really was completely asleep, he opened the voicemail file and held it up to his ear.

“Hi, it’s me….Arthur. I know it’s late, and I don’t want to bug you, but I….I fucked up. I just let Browning fingerfuck me in his office-” Eames pulled the phone away from his ear, reminding himself there was no reason to get angry again, but still needing a deep breath to continue listening. If Idris hadn’t been such a stand up bloke in every way Eames would have chucked his words up as unimportant, but his old friend had always been honest with him. “Please don’t think less of me for this, I shouldn’t have even fucking called….fuck. I should have called you when I was calmer. Sorry, I’ll talk to you later. Have a good day at work….I love you.”

Eames stared down at the message notification on his screen, opening it back up and skipping to the end to hear it one more time. When the last words filtered through his ear again, mumbled and rushed but so painfully sincere, Eames couldn’t help the warmth that flooded his belly. He put the phone aside, the message still not deleted, and gathered Arthur’s sleep-limp body into his arms. He kissed Arthur’s cheek fondly, not intending to wake him but unable to help himself. 

Arthur grunted, turning in Eames’ arms so that they were spooned together with Eames’ arm wrapped over Arthur’s chest beneath the blankets. Eames nosed against Arthur’s sweaty hair, breathing him in while his thumb stroked over soft skin. Arthur moaned in his sleep, pulling Eames tighter.

“Love you…” he mumbled, still not quite awake, but it still made Eames smile like an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that sex scene, I don't even know what the fuck happened. lol So rusty, it hurts.


	19. Eames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I seriously deleted and rewrote this chapter at least three times. Don't know what it was but nothing was clicking. Only a few chapters left!

When Eames opened up the gym two days later, he was still on cloud nine. Life just seemed brighter now that he finally had Arthur in his life. They hadn’t made any declaration of a definitive relationship status, just knew that they wanted to be together. He whistled as he flipped on all the lights, grinning to himself as he remembered kissing Arthur’s slack-jawed with sleep mouth that morning on his way out. Arthur had always had a spare key to his place, but had never really used it before. He had last night though, coming over after work at almost three in the morning and immediately stripping off before climbing naked into bed next to Eames. Eames had only woken enough to wrap an arm around Arthur and pull him against his chest. 

Eames loved waking up next to Arthur, knowing Arthur would be there that night, that he’d be there any night they wanted. Arthur had confessed that Eames’ apartment felt more homey to him than his own did, and while he didn’t expressly say why, Eames could guess Arthur was still somewhat rattled from Michael’s exit. 

He’d have to teach Arthur some self defense moves, Eames decided as he booted up his laptop. Arthur had helped him find and install some bookkeeping software, and Eames started keeping putting the login information there as well as on paper. It was so much easier than sifting through Frank’s binders, but the old man was still leery of a completely computerized system. It was one of the remaining hard resistances Frank waged against Eames’ other changes, but to Eames it was still only a matter of time.

When Eames had first started compiling lists of possible improvements for the gym, he’d never imagined that Frank would eventually be open to him actually carrying the alterations out. Frank had brushed him off at first, too nervous to put his legacy in the hands of some young ex-con, but with each subtle improvement Eames made, he began to loosen up a bit. 

The first thing he’d done was stay after the gym closed and given the place a good thorough cleaning. Eames wouldn’t have been surprised if it was the first time the gym had been given more than a basic wipe-down in at least a decade. He bought supplies from Jim, the older man now quite amiable after seeing the renovations Eames had done to the formerly shabby apartment, going so far as to offer Eames tips on how to get the really tough grime out when Eames told him what he was doing at the gym. 

He scrubbed the hanging bags first, making a note on how many seemed beyond the point of fixing. Next were the floor mats, and then the boxing ring. He was amazed at how drastically this changed the smell of the room, grimacing at the murky brown color of the water in his bucket. Eames wanted a hazmat suit for the locker rooms, but settled for the leftover gloves and disposable masks Arthur had bought for his apartment. He couldn’t help but send Arthur several selfies of himself side-eyeing some ominous looking mold and close ups of hair caked in the drains. He’d cackled to himself in the empty locker room at Arthur’s voice text response of him shrieking. 

When he was done with the surface stains, he moved on to the next tier of his cosmetic repairs: filling cracks and holes in the walls, repairing the tiles in the locker room, replacing bulbs which had burnt out from places Frank couldn’t reach. 

Frank seemed amused to see how far Eames would go at first, assuming he would eventually lose his ‘new employee’ enthusiasm and give up, but when the younger man kept on going, he began leaving discreet lists of things for Eames to do. He went from waving Eames off to asking how much it would cost when Eames proposed a new project; and while he could be a tight fisted old bastard, he usually relented and cut Eames a check to cover the costs. Sometimes Eames paid for cleaning supplies and simple tools himself, not telling Frank as he knew the old man was struggling financially. 

His hard work was paying off too. There was an increase in business, the freshly tidied space drawing a younger crowd of boxers and some mixed martial artists. There were inquiries about classes or personal trainers, and Eames was already scheming as to how to bring these to fruition. Frank scoffed when he mentioned it though, waving Eames off with a tired “I don’t have time for that shit.” 

Eames had offered to teach a class himself in boxing, or run a physical training class just to see what kind of an interest it drew, but the old man wasn’t too sold on that either. “Seems like a lot of work, a lot of room for stuff to go wrong” he’d said. 

When Eames’ face fell, Frank looked uncharacteristically contrite, but he still put the idea to rest for a while and gave Eames his first hard no. Instead, while things were slow during normal hours of operation, Eames had worked on better organizing Frank’s outdated check in and inventory systems, thus uncovering Frank’s biggest problem yet. 

Frank was friends with most of his old regulars, and had been lax in both their check in’s and collecting their dues. From what Eames could tell, none of them had either been given a massive discount or paid absolutely nothing within the last five years. When he brought it to the old man’s attention, Frank fluffed him off with some horseshit excuse. Eames knew he needed the money though, he’d seen the stacks of bills and knew the mortgage was only just barely paid. 

Frank was just too proud for his own good, though, so Eames in the end took matters into his own hands and asked each regular in turn for that month’s dues. Surprisingly, he got it from all of them, their responses ranging for complete acceptance to jokes of “free ride’s over, huh?” By the next week the old regulars had paid not only that month’s dues, but a little extra on the side for “back payments.” Frank didn’t offer any real display of gratitude when Eames handed over the roll of cash, but he accepted it and grunted out that Eames was a good kid. It was as close as the old grouch was going to get, but it warmed Eames all the same.

Eames had taken the names and amounts down in a notebook, and now typed them all into the files on his computer. Two guys came in while he worked, and Eames greeted them both and checked them in. About an hour later the phone rang, and Eames wasn’t surprised to hear Frank on the other man. He was, however, quite taken aback by the old man’s opening line.

“You’re in some trouble, kid.”

Eames’ brows climbed up, lips pursed in confusion. He couldn’t think of anything he’d done wrong, or anything he’d done differently that was out of his usual norm. “Oh?” he finally said, tentatively. 

“Don’t know what you did to piss him off, but my brother has it in for you.” Frank paused, chuckling until he fell into a slight coughing fit. 

“Your brother?” Eames echoed. 

“Yeah,” Frank’s breathing was ragged as he inhaled deeply. “He’s done nothing but sing your praises before, not said boo for weeks though, then this morning I get a little phone call...so what was it?”

“What was what” Eames asked, still trying to process.

“What did you do?” Frank asked, exasperated and expectant, like a gossiping schoolboy.

“No clue,” Eames said. “I haven’t even spoken to him since I left the club. What exactly did he say?”

Frank grunted, apparently unsatisfied by the response. “He asked how you were working out, if I was happy with your work so far...then started warning me that it might not have been such a good idea, that with your history and all that you were probably going to try and pull one over on me. That he was too quick to trust you blah blah blah…”

Eames snorted. “Lovely. Well there was only one person I really talked to at the bar, so I don’t know where he’s getting this rubbish from.”

“From his own ass, most likely,” Frank said, voice cracking before he unleashed another series of wet coughs. “You did something kid, Petey only gets this way when someone messes with his things.”

Eames suddenly couldn’t help the shit eating grin which spread from ear to ear. “...oh” he managed, imagining Arthur on his countertop with his sweater rucked up, cheeks flushed and mouth hanging open from the breathy gasps Eames forced out while he fucked him. He glanced up to make sure no one was watching before adjusting himself in his pants, wouldn’t do to get a hard on when he had no time to go take care of it. 

Frank snorted. “Coming clear now, is it?”

“Possibly,” Eames said, still grinning. 

Frank snorted. “You watch yourself, kid. Petey can be a vindictive fucker when he wants to be.”

Eames sighed, leaning back in his seat. He’d known Arthur was going to talk to Browning and tell him he was declining his ‘offer’, but he hadn’t had a proper chance to talk to the other man yet. He’d gotten in too late the night before, and it was still too early for Eames to call, Arthur usually slept late after working a shift. “I’m not too worried,” he said. “It’s nothing illegal, his shiny new toy just turned him down and chose me.”

Frank gagged. “I’ll never understand you queers,” he huffed. “Why go for dick when there’s pussy.”

Eames pursed his lips. “I could always take your girl,” he offered. “Let her show me what I’m missing.”

“I’d have to get one first,” Frank said. “Anyway, watch your back.”

“Will do,” Eames said before the line went dead. 

Later in the day he tried texting Arthur, but received no reply. He was itching to know the details of what had gone down the night before,mostly excited to hear how the older man took his rejection. He imagined Arthur sitting in the old man’s lap, draping all over him before dropping the bomb, imagined the look on Browning’s face when Arthur told him he didn’t want to see him or better yet, that he’d picked Eames. He just hoped it didn’t make things difficult for Arthur at work, especially with Frank’s warning that Browning could be vindictive. 

He got his answer later that night, busy with paperwork when the bell on the front door chimed. “We’re just about to close,” he said without looking up, making a few final notations on his laptop. He started when a cup of coffee was dangled in front of his face, following up the slim extended arm to find Arthur smirking down at him. 

“Hey,” Arthur purred, leaning down to brace his arms against the countertop when Eames took the cup from him. 

“Hey yourself,” Eames returned, arching a brow at the other man as he took him in. His hair was loose and tousled, cheeks pink from the cold. “What brings you all the way over here at this hour? I’d have been home in an hour you know.”

“Felt like going out,” Arthur said with a shrug, still flashing bedroom eyes at Eames in a way which rather unfair considering Eames couldn’t do anything about it at the moment. “Went for coffee and thought I’d pay you a little visit.” He then reached into his messanger bag and pulled out what Eames immediately recognized as a parchment wrapped sandwich from his favorite deli. “Figured you’d be hungry.”

The side of Eames’ mouth twitched up into a sly smile. “You’re an angel,” he said, accepting the sandwich. “You should visit me everyday.”

Arthur’s laugh was more of a snort, but his cheeks still pinked a little. Eames wanted to pull him down into his lap and let Arthur sit there while he kept working on his logs, but the wall of windows and their fishbowl level of visibility to the outside kept him from following through. He settled for unwrapping his sandwich, letting appeasing his appetite tide him over until he could get Arthur alone and unwrap him.

“I actually wanted to talk to you,” Arthur said, leaning down to fold his arms atop the desktop. “Didn’t get a chance to last night.”

“I know,” Eames said before taking a hearty bite. “A little birdie told me Browning had it in for me.”

Arthur grimaced, leaning forward on his forearms. “Yeah…” he drawled. “I hadn’t planned to tell him I was back with you cause I didn’t know if he’d try to mess with you...but he guessed it when I told him I couldn’t see him.” 

“Oh?” Eames said, going for coy and missing by a mile. 

“Mmmm” Arthur hummed. “He tried to warn me off you, not like threatening but more ‘reminding’ me of your history and that bay boys like you always go back to their old tricks, that ‘when you leave me’ or ‘when you end up back in prison’ he’d be there if I need a shoulder to cry on.”

Eames’ jaw tensed. “Did he now,” he said, bitterness creeping into his tone.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Do you really think I fell for his bullshit, but idiot? He just changed his tactics is all, didn’t make a fuss or anything, just acted like he was only saying it out of concern.”

“How considerate,” Eames said, not completely appeased. 

Arthur huffed, taking the sandwich out of Eames’ grasp and pulling the other man’s hand up towards him. He wrapped his lips around Eames’ finger, taking it into his hot mouth to suck off a smear of tangy Sriracha infused mayo from it with a little moan. Once he had Eames’ attention again he leaned closer still, not quite close enough to kiss. “If I worried about that shit, I wouldn’t be with you,” Arthur said, his eyes narrowed with promise. 

Eames took his sandwich back, grateful and ready for a change of subject. “Want me to give you the grand tour, show you all the changes?”

Arthur nodded, glancing about the gym. “It definitely looks and smells a fuckload cleaner than last time,” he said. He waited patiently while Eames locked up, flipping the sign from Open to Closed. He pulled off his scarf and coat, leaving them draped over the chair with Eames’ before Eames put a broad hand at the small of his back and led him across the gym.

Arthur “ooh”-ed and “ahh”-ed appropriately as he took in all the improvements Eames had made, dimples on full display as he told Eames he was impressed. 

“It’s almost as good as my cleaning.”

Eames grinned. “Almost?”

Arthur winked. “Almost. But it is very good.”

Eames did his usual end of the night routine while he and Arthur chatted, turning out the lights in the front on the gym before going into the back rooms to double check everyone had cleared out. Arthur followed him into the shower room, leaning against a shower stall as he watched him pull his sweater over his head. Eames often showered after work, the long day of cleaning, training and sweating in the stuffy gym, preferring to get clean before going home. He dropped his shirt on a bench before working on the button of his jeans and toeing off his shoes. “You gonna watch or join me?” he asked, devilish smirk on his face. 

Arthur glanced down at the floor tiles, seemingly checking for mould or anything else suspicious before working on his own clothes. By the time he was naked Eames was already turning on the water, getting it good and hot while he placed his body wash on the ledge. Eames heard him snort before Arthur’s slim arm reached forward and picked up the bottle for inspection. 

“What,” Arthur said. “No bar of soap? Scared what will happen if you drop it?”

Eames plucked the bottle back from Arthur, opting not to respond and instead squirting some soap into his hand. He rubbed the gel over his pecs and stomach, lathering it in circles under his arms. He felt some satisfaction when he caught Arthur staring, smirking to himself as he continued his clean. 

“You ever caught anyone jerking off in here?” Arthur asked, indicating the open showers around them. 

Eames snorted. “Not yet, but that doesn’t mean anything. This set up is just like it was in prison, and guys would do all sorts of stuff right out in the open.”

Arthur’s brows rose in interest, sniffing Eames’ shower gel before squirting some for himself. “Oh?”

Eames nodded. “Just had to be careful and not let a screw catch you, cause you’d get write-ups.”

Arthur’s teeth dragged over his lower lip, hands rubbing down his arms to lather them. “Did you ever do it?”

Eames nodded. “Sure, I mean it was easier to clean up there than in my cell. We only did laundry a couple times a month so if you got crusty shorts you had to wash them in the sink and hope they dried by morning.”

Arthur feigned a scandalized gasp. “What else did you get up to in the public showers, you naughty boy?” 

Eames shrugged, tilting his head back under the hot spray to wet his hair. “Nothing much really, got a blowjob from a guy with missing front teeth and a hairy back, hardly ideal but the pickings were somewhat slim.” He wiped water from his eyes, aware of Arthur inching forward, knowing he wanted to ask more but was worried about dredging into uncomfortable territory. He gave Arthur a full up and down eyefuck, one brow arching appreciatively as he took him him. “There definitely wasn’t anyone as fine as you inside, not that you’d have lasted more than a minute anyways...” 

Arthur snorted, gesturing to himself. “Who wouldn’t want all of this?” He planted a hand on Eames’ firm chest, pushing him back so he could rinse the soap from his body. He got that look again, not exactly timid but careful. “What would you have done if you’d seen me in the showers,” Arthur asked then, voice husky, inviting.

Eames hummed appreciatively, stepping forward into Arthur’s personal space, standing straight to give himself a slight height advantage. He knew Arthur got off on his muscles and size, and thought that this was a good way to show Arthur that it was ok, that he could see where Arthur’s little inquiry was heading and had no problems with it. He brushed his thumb before Arthur’s lower lip, dragging against the wet skin roughly. He trailed his fingers to the back of Arthur’s neck, gripping him hard and pulling him forward. 

Arthur’s lips fell open slightly but he didn’t say anything, his eyelids drooping with want. He kept his hands at his sides, his body loose and compliant to a point of submission Eames knew had to be part of this whole setup.

“If you were the new fish,” Eames said, practically purring. “I’d come get up in your personal space like this.” He stepped forward, forcing Arthur to stumble back until he was stopped by the tile wall. “Check out the merchandise,” he gripped Arthur tight around his trim little waist, sliding his hand down to grip a handful of his firm ass before letting his fingers dip into the cleft. 

When Eames’ fingertip brushed over Arthur’s hole, his hissed, quickly turning in Eames’ arms and rising a hand to his chest. “Wait…” he said, eyes round. “You never….actually...did this, right? Like for real.”

Eames rolled his eyes. “No, Arthur darling, I never forced anyone in prison.”

Arthur nibbled his lip, nodding. “Ok...ok yeah keep going.” He let Eames manhandle him back against the wall, wanting to moan at how Eames’ thick arms caged him in. “Please don’t hurt me,” he simpered, letting his lips pout. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Eames groaned, wanting to lean forward to nip at those pouty lips, but instead he raked his fingers through Arthur’s wet hair and got a good grip. As soon as he pushed down Arthur dropped to his knees, spray from the shower wetting his face and chest, beading down his smooth skin. Eames crowded Arthur against the tile,forcing Arthur’s head back. “Open your mouth,” he said, voice low and dangerous. He couldn’t help but be both smug and relieved at how Arthur’s cock was already swelling with want. 

Eames took a hold of himself, his cock practically throbbing in his hand as he watched Arthur’s mouth fall open. He brought himself just before Arthur’s mouth, fingers sliding back to grip the back of the younger man’s head. “Suck it,” he ordered, leaving it up to Arthur to actually lean forward and take him into his mouth. 

Arthur did it, not as tentative as his wide doe-eyed act should have probably called for. He bobbed his head with enthusiasm, alternating between shallow delicate sucks and deep throaty drags until Eames was practically shaking. He wanted to just throat fuck Arthur against the wall, but knew it wasn’t what Arthur really wanted, so he grabbed Arthur by his upper arm and dragged him back to his feet. 

Arthur wobbled as he was spun around, hands raising to brace himself against the wall as Eames positioned him, forced his spine to bow with a hand to his lower back. 

“Get that ass out,” Eames grunted, slapping Arthur’s buttock hard. 

Arthur gasped as Eames pushed his thighs together before fingering his hole, bit the inside of his arm to keep quiet when Eames fingers came back slick with what could only be shower gel. He cried out when Eames pushed into him, the gel burning more than he’d anticipated. He grit his teeth and tried to push through the pain, but the water kept rinsing away the gel until the penetration might as well have been dry. “Oh fuck-,” he grit out. “It hurts…”

“Take it, prag,” Eames hissed, thrusting harder until Arthur was practically bouncing off the tiles. 

“No, like, ‘really’ hurts,” Arthur insisted, turning his head best he could to look back at the other man. 

Eames immediately felt guilty. “Fuck, sorry,” he said, gingerly pulling out. He was about to suggest that they just jerk each other off and fuck later, but then Arthur was slipping past him and heading towards their clothes. He was ready to be petulant until Arthur skipped the clothes and dug in his messenger bag. Eames turned off the water and sidled up to him, grinning at he took in the lube he was pulling from his bag. “Arthur, you tart.”

Arthur only leveled a look of ‘oh please’ at Eames before gripping him with a slippery fist, spreading lube over his grateful erection. “What, are you gonna complain?”

Eames shook his head, urging Arthur onto his back on the unoccupied bench. He quickly shoved one of Arthur’s long legs back towards his chest to open him up. They both groaned when Eames pushed back into him, Eames shifting only to gain purchase as he gripped Arthur’s wrists and pinned them over his head against the bench to keep him in place. Their little roleplay, pathetically half assed as it was, was abandoned as Eames fucked Arthur hard, the lube making it easier and more pleasurable for both of them. Arthur panted open-mouthed, eyes closed as he relished the heat building in his gut, the stars he saw every time Eames brushed over his prostate. 

Eames loved being able to hold Arthur down like this, to touch him however he wanted or as hard as he wanted with the full confidence that Arthur trusted him to do it, to never take it too far. He didn’t think he’d been trusted by anyone like this in his life. Releasing Arthur’s wrists, Eames took his rosy cock in hand and stroked him, rubbing his thumb under the head until Arthur was flushed and gasping, his eyes rolling back as he came. 

At this point Arthur was so boneless and slack Eames had to practically fold him in half to keep him in place so he could sink balls deep and keep fucking him. From there it didn’t take long, and after Eames came he slumped down atop Arthur. They lay there for a minute, Eames’ face burrowed against Arthur’s collarbone. He knew he must be heavy for Arthur, but as the younger man didn’t seem in a hurry for him to get off, Eames was content to stay a bit longer. He smiled when he felt Arthur’s fingers in his hair, idly playing through the strands. 

“We suck at roleplay,” Arthur said, still petting Eames.

Eames leaned forward just enough to flick the tip of his tongue over one of Arthur’s nipples. “Just you wait, darling,” he said, voice dripping with promise. “I’ve always been a quick study.”

Arthur snorted.


	20. Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long guys, life has just been a bit much and I've been ridiculously blocked. Have the last of this fic worked out though, and want to finish it before I work on anything else, so there should be more soon!

Arthur arched his back, working his hips over his customer’s lap. Eddie was probably in his late forties, with a full mustache and a stubbly beard, the rigid cut of his hair pointing towards former military. It was the fourth Thursday in a row he had shown up, and so far each time had been relatively the same. He preferred the champagne room, and he liked when Arthur was in his lap, so Arthur spent most of the time rocking against him, fingers trailing down the older man’s chest when they weren’t carding through his thinning hair. 

Arthur writhed in time with the music, Eddie’s prick a hard lump against his ass. Arthur could feel wet bursts of hot breath on the back of his neck, and as he was no blushing virgin himself knew the increased panting and increasingly rigid posture meant that Eddie was close to coming in his pants. It had already happened every previous Thursday so would hardly be a surprise, but it wasn’t exactly an experience he was eagerly anticipating. 

Graceful as he could, Arthur stood up, bending forward with a little wiggle to give Eddie a nice view of his ass, which had been freshly waxed by Eames the previous night. He hoped it would be enough, but Eddie’s face immediately fell. 

“Wait...” Eddie said quickly, flushed ear to ear with embarrassment which apparently wasn’t bad enough to keep him from asking Arthur back onto his lap. 

Arthur glanced down at the obvious tent in the man’s pants, trying not to let his face betray any annoyance. “Just making sure you get your money’s worth, handsome,” Arthur purred, running his fingers back through his hair as he swayed to the beat. “You’re not paying for me to just sit there.” He gave Eddie a wink, letting his hands play teasingly down his front, push gently at the string band of his thong to bare just as much skin as he dared without exposing his dick.

The tactic seemed to work, Eddie’s eyes greedily drinking in every extra inch of revealed skin that Arthur teased him with, palms rubbing excitedly over his thighs. His face was getting sweaty, so and he had to right his horn rimmed glasses several times with the tip of his middle finger. He palmed his cock a few times when he thought Arthur wasn’t looking, but as he kept his hands to himself Arthur didn’t pay it any mind. 

When Arthur turned around and dragged the thong down below the swell of his ass, he heard Eddie choke out a shudder and knew before even turning around the older man would have a wet stain on the front of his jeans. 

Arthur rolled his eyes while he still faced away, forcing a broad smile when he turned back around. “You like that, daddy?” he crooned, purposefully not looking down as he pulled his thong back into place. 

Eddie’s eyes darkened at the word, his face flushed both from his orgasm and a new wave of lust. “Get a drink with me,” he finally implored, standing for effect before taking a cautious step towards Arthur, hands knit before him. “Not here...when you get off work.”

Arthur kept smiling, a quick glance at the clock telling him he still had a few minutes to kill before time was up. He urged Eddie back down to the couch, accidentally glancing down to see the dark stain right near the crotch of the older man’s jeans and at once regretting the decision. Eddie stared up at him, slack jawed and expectant as he waited for some sort of answer to his request. 

Arthur pouted dramatically, brows knit in disappointment which he felt had to look comical but had worked in the past with other guys who mistook him for boyfriend material. “I’d love to, handsome, but they’re really strict here about seeing customers outside the club...I could lose my job.”

“That’s ok!” Eddie said, a little too quickly. “I have some money, I could take care of you.”

Arthur reached out and brushed the man’s hair back from his forehead, lips pursed in appreciation. When he spoke again, he let his voice drop husky and rich. “You’re so sweet, I wish more guys were like you....will you come see me again soon, daddy?”

Eddie nodded, taking out his wallet. “Can I buy another thirty minutes?”

Arthur forced himself to not look down at the stain, the knowledge it was there already bad enough without further visual assistance. He kept his dimpled smile though, even if his voice wavered a bit when he purred out “sure, daddy. Whatever you want.”

By the time Eddie finally left, Arthur was ready for a shower. The older man hadn’t cum again, but his first release had been nearly impossible to work around with any degree of stealth without brushing against a few times. He washed his hands up to his elbows, spot checking his shorts as best he could in the mirror. He was still checking when he left the bathroom, so caught up that he didn’t see the arm which reached out to wrap around his waist and pull him into a waiting lap. The ‘no touching’ rule was on the tip of his tongue until he looked over to see it was Browning. His boss grinned at him, bouncing Arthur once on his knee in what seemed an attempt to illicit a smile.

Ever since Arthur had told the older man he wouldn’t get into a relationship with him, Browning had been slyly working to chip Arthur’s resolve. He never outright tried to be sexual, but would rather touch Arthur familiarly, stroke his hair or pull him into his lap as he had just then. Arthur put up with it as the older man didn’t seem to expect anything in return, but didn’t indulge him like some of the other guys did. Arthur never kissed his cheek or called him Daddy; never hugged him even though he knew it was what the older man wanted. Playing nice but not ‘too’ nice kept things comfortable, which was about as close to professional as he was going to get at Club Fisch. 

“What’s up, buttercup?” Browning asked, the spice of his beloved cigars heavy on his breath. 

“That guy who’s here every Thursday,” Arthur said, pointing behind him. “He nutted while I was giving him a lapdance...I can’t tell if he got any on my shorts.”

Browning snorted, ushering Arthur up to take a look himself. Normally Arthur wouldn’t let him, but he really wanted to know if there was jizz on his clothes and he knew the older man would quite thoroughly inspect him. “Anything there?”

Browning shook his head, giving Arthur’s bum a little tap before resting his hand on the young man’s lower back. “All clear, honey. Did Prince Charming at least give you a nice big tip to go with his load?” 

Arthur held up the rolled up wad of cash in answer, snatching it back when the older man reached for it. His tisked at Browning’s pout, slipping the money back into his shorts. “I worked hard for that,” he said. “You get a big enough cut as it is.”

Brownings’ mouth twitched wickedly. “Come on back to the office and get out of those shorts and we can talk about raising your salary.”

Arthur patted the older man’s chest with a sigh. “Top marks for persistence.”

Browning chuckled low, pulling his cigar from his breast pocket and gripping it between his teeth. “Always got top marks from my favorite teachers,” he said with a wink. He drew Arthur back down onto his thigh whilst signaling for the bartender, ever so casually not looking at Arthur as he said “so you still with that deadbeat, Eames?”

Arthur fought back a smirk, knowing it just chapped Browning’s ass that months later he and Eames were still going strong with whatever it was between them. They’d never really made any sort of declarations of their intentions towards one another, but as neither had stated any dissatisfaction with the situation they didn’t fuss over something as trivial as a label. 

Eames had come to pick him up a few weeks ago, when Arthur’s car was in the shop. He’d strolled into the club to collect Arthur, and upon seeing him greeted him with an arm about the waist and a kiss on the cheek. It was all pretty tame, but the next day Browning had called Arthur into his office and ‘helpfully’ reminded him that it was bad for business for clients to think he was taken. Arthur could have snorted at Browning’s veil of concern, too irritated to feel threatened or intimidated. 

“Oh yeah,” Arthur said in answer to the older man’s question. “He started this beginners boxing class for teens at the gym; he’s so good with the kids, they all love him.” While he certainly enjoyed gloating about any accomplishments after Browning had tried and failed to get Eames fired, Arthur truly was incredibly proud of what Eames had accomplished so far. He’d been supportive when Eames mentioned wanting to work with at risk kids, offer them something to do to keep them off the streets and out of trouble, keep them from going down the path he himself went. 

He’d still been completely blindsided by how voracious Eames was at achieving this goal. He really was brilliant with the kids, drawing them in with his hard look and tattoos, but keeping them with his good heart. He gave them a stable figure in their lives they could depend on, for the first time ever for some of them. He’d even contacted one of his old correctional officers and had him bring some nutriloaf to show the kids what they’d be eating if they actually went to jail. Along with the food, the officer had brought pictures of Eames’ own former prison cell, per Eames’ request. It pained Arthur to see the tiny space, the pathetic thin pad Eames and the current occupant had used as a mattress. He hated to think of Eames spending any time there, much less years. He’d rested his head against Eames’ shoulder as he listened, leaning up on his toes to press a loving kiss to the larger man’s temple when no one was looking. 

“That’s wonderful,” Browning said, disinterest obvious in his voice as he scanned the crowd. He rested a hand at the back of Arthur’s neck, pulling him close in a manner which was supposed to seem conspiratorial. “Why don’t you go check on that guy at the bar, the one with the ponytail.” Browning said, back in boss mode as he always did when Arthur gained the upper hand against his advances. “He’s been here a while and may need a little coaxing to spend more money.” 

Arthur nodded, adjusting his shorts and tousling his hair as he eyed his next mark. The guy was balding but still kept his hair long; the thin strands meticulously styled and slicked back. Arthur’s time at the club thus far had taught him any guy who held on to his outdated styles like that probably held onto his wallet just as hard. Squeezing out singles from him would likely be akin to getting blood from a turnip, but Arthur always could handle a challenge. 

By the end of his shift, Arthur was ready to soak in a tub with a bottle of wine and just cleanse himself of everything and everyone. His lower back ached, but at least he was clothed again, comfortably swimming in Eames’ sweatpants and hoodie and his own puffy jacket. Before leaving he made sure his taser was charged, finally able to hold it comfortably after a few nights of carrying it. There had been a creepy older guy waiting for him in the parking lot a few times in the last couple weeks, usually doing nothing more than mouth-breathing and telling Arthur he was beautiful. Three nights ago though, he started babbling about how he saw Arthur watching him, and how Arthur didn’t have to be scared. 

Brendan had offered to walk him to his car a few times, but Arthur could tell he was only saying out of a sense of obligation, and he didn’t want to be a burden. He could ask Browning to walk him, but didn’t want the older man getting any ideas, so he just got the damn taser like Eames had suggested and hoped he never had to use it. 

Once safely in his locked car with no sign of his unstable admirer, he checked his phone, smiling at the ridiculous selfie oh Eames waiting for him in his inbox. Eames was by far the hottest guy Arthur had ever been with, the buffest guy, but also the biggest doofus. 

‘Idiot’ Arthur texted back. He was sifting through a playlist on his phone when Eames’ name and photo popped up, announcing his call. “Did I hurt your feelings that bad you had to call, big guy?”

Eames chuckled, but it lacked the warmth of his usual mirth. “Much as your words did wound me,” he said. “I actually needed to talk to you.”

“Oh?” Arthur sat up taller in his seat and readjusted his phone. “Everything ok?” he asked, his mind immediately going to every worst case scenarios, first and foremost that Eames was going back to Idris. 

Eames signed, tired, and when he spoke again his voice trembled a bit. “Not really,” he admitted. “Frank’s in the hospital...his oxygen levels were way too low and he couldn’t get his breath.”

“Is he ok?” Arthur asked, brows knit with concern as he backed his car out of his parking space. He knew how much Eames had grown to look up to the old man, how friendly they’d become in the last couple months. 

“They’ve got him on a stronger level of oxygen now,” Eames said. “And he’ll have to use his cpap now, during the day even...I don’t know though, I mean it can’t be good, right? Does this kind of stuff get better?”

Arthur sighed, wishing they were talking in person so he could wrap his arms around Eames and hold him. “I mean it’s not good,” he said. “Someone like Frank who is getting older and isn’t in the best health to begin with...if his lungs aren’t expanding like they need to, I don’t know...I guess so long as they can stabilize him there’s no reason to assume the worst just yet.”

He was half talking out of his ass, never having had grandparents of his own and losing his mother when he was young. The closest he had to understanding the process of slow decline was his aunt he now hadn’t seen at all in almost a year. Alzheimers was different, a mental decay rather than a bodily one, though he still had to watch someone he used to look up to continue to slip further and further away. 

“Do you know when he’s getting out of the hospital?” Arthur asked.

Eames sighed heavily. “They’re keeping him for observation til tomorrow at least, probably two days though.”

“Do you want some company?” Arthur asked, voice just a little unsteady. “I can stay over tonight.” 

Eames’s voice came through, low and soft, coating over Arthur like honey. “Yeah,” he said. “Come on over.”

Later that night, when Arthur was in Eames’ bed, draped across his naked chest with one of Eames’ arms wrapped about his waist, they hadn’t fucked, hadn’t even really kissed, but Arthur felt like he was floating. His hair was damp from a shower, a pair of Eames’ boxers slipping low on his slimmer hips. “Who’s running the gym while Frank’s sick?” Arthur asked, tilting his head to gaze up at Eames. 

“Yours truly” Eames said. “I’ve been pretty much running it the last few weeks anyways, Ryan just does some part time shifts on the weekends, but he asked me to cover two of his last three shifts.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “He’s such a lazy ass, why do you even keep him on?”

Eames shrugged, finger trailing up and down Arthur’s forearm. “Can’t...not up to me.”

“You do everything else,” Arthur grumbled, trying not to be bitter, especially when the old man was in such ill health. 

“I uh-” Eames stopped just as soon as he’d started, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “I’m thinking about seeing if Frank will let me buy a share of the place...be a real partner.”

Arthur raised his head from Eames’ chest, looking down at him in surprise. “Are you serious?”

Eames’ brows rounded, vulnerability in his eyes as he misconstrued Arthur’s tone. “Should I not? Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

“No it’s....that would just be huge for you,” Arthur said. “Do you think Frank will go for it?”

Eames smiled then, so fond Arthur almost couldn’t stand to look at him, so he laid his cheek back on Eames’ chest, nuzzling him a little. Eames hooked a finger under his chin and tilted his face up again, murmuring “come back here.” 

Arthur indulged him, going so far as to push himself up so that he was sitting in Eames’ lap, the blankets pooled about his hips. “Happy?” he asked, petulant, but Eames was just still giving him that look that made him want to hide again. 

“If he lets me,” Eames said. “Buy into the place, I mean...you could leave the club and come work with me if you wanted.”

Arthur stared down at Eames, caught of guard. “What?” he asked, unsure where this was coming from. 

Eames rubbed his palms up and down down Arthur’s arms, worrying his plump lower lip before he finally sat up, keeping Arthur in his lap. “You could come work with me, I could fire Ryan’s useless ass and we could run the place together.”

“Eames…” Arthur began, shoulders tense as he ran his fingers back through his hair. “That’s so sweet of you but...I’ve seen the guys who use your gym. They’re all meatheads like you.”

“Cheeky” Eames said, tweaking Arthur’s nipple. 

“Seriously tho,” Arthur said, rubbing the ache from his abused nipple. “I’m the same size I was at 14 and my idea of a workout is riding your dick…I don’t have much to offer you as an employee.”

“You’re smart,” Eames said huskily, leaning forward to press his lips just beneath Arthur’s jaw. “You’re hardworking,” he pressed a small kiss to Arthur’s throat, wrenching a moan from between his lips. “Come on, darling, I know you hate your job...I’d even let you leave your clothes on sometimes.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “With incentives like that-”

“Besides,” Eames said, less playful and more somber as he wrapped his arms about Arthur’s waist and idly stroked the small of Arthur’s back with his thumb. “You could have something more legit to put on your resume for when you start interviewing with schools.”

Arthur’s hands dropped into his waist, Eames’ words cutting in a manner he knew the other man had not intended. He hadn’t even bothered looking at the open positions in months, the thought of even checking the website making him nauseous. “That’s sweet of you Eames, really...but those are your guys. They wouldn’t treat me like they treat you. I just-I don’t think I’d be comfortable there.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Eames said, mouth a grim line as he cast his eyes down. “That you’re actually getting comfortable at the club.” 

Arthur stilled a moment, wishing he wasn’t sitting in Eames’ lap. “It’s just my job, Eames,” he insisted, the words hollow even to his own ears. “It’s not something I plan to do forever-”

“It will be if you don’t take steps to change it,” Eames said, cutting him off with an exasperated sigh, like this was something he’d been wanting to say for some time. “When was the last time you called about a job? Or sent in your resume to a school?”

Arthur scoffed at him, crawling off Eames’ lap despite the other man’s gentle protestations and leaned back against the headboard with his knees drawn to his chest. “You don’t get it, Eames,” he said. “You said it yourself that this is only your second real job you’ve ever had, and it fell into your lap. You don’t know how it feels to know you’re so good at something, but no one will give you a chance. To just get rejected over and over, to know people are sick of hearing from you. I needed a break, Eames, don’t you get it? There was only so much I could take.”

“Do you seriously think I don’t know what rejection feels like, Arthur?” Eames asked, eyes narrowed. “I’m a convicted bloody felon...I didn’t check IDs at a strip club for fifty bucks a night because I had options.”

“And I didn’t start taking my clothes off for strangers ‘cause I have some exhibitionist streak,” Arthur bit back. 

“But you do have options,” Eames said, much softer than before. “You could do so much better, Arthur, and I’m worried you’re forgetting that.” He rolled over onto his knees, his arms braced against the bed on either side of Arthur’s legs. He let his plush lips drag across Arthur’s fingers where they clutched tight at his own knees. 

“I know I don’t have much to offer you,” he said. “It’s not glamorous, but it could be your first step back to your real life.”

Arthur sighed, the tension bleeding from him. He raised a hand and pressed it to Eames’ cheek, smiling when Eames turned just enough to press a kiss to his palm. “That means a lot,” he said, gentle and low. “You have no idea how much.”

This time it was Eames’ turn to sigh, but he kept his cheek resting against Arthur’s fond touch. “But you wont do it,” he said, already resigned to it. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I just can’t right now,” Arthur said. “I’ve got thousands of dollars in student loans, an aunt in a home I’m supporting...I’ve got some savings but it’s not the right time.” Arthur’s heart twisted at the disappointment written across Eames’ face, but at least the other man seemed to finally concede, understanding even if he didn’t completely agree. 

“But-” Arthur’s mouth curled into a sly grin as he pushed hard at Eames’ chest, using other other man’s somewhat awkward stance to tip him sideways onto his back. Eames fell back with a grunt, hands up defensively until Arthur was back in his lap, bending down low to kiss him. “I really” Arthur dragged himself down Eames’ chest, impishly biting at Eames’ pectoral muscle. “Really…” he continued, moving down to give Eames’ abdomen the same treatment. He revelled in how Eames’ muscles contracted beneath his teeth and mouth, all that strength coiled and at his mercy. 

He paused when he got to Eames’ crotch, mouth watering when he saw how Eames’ cock was beginning to tent against his boxers. He flickered his eyes up to Eames, who was panting now, mouth hanging open as he waited for Arthur to keep going. 

“Really love that you offered.” Arthur punctuated this by opening his mouth against Eames’ clothed cock, licking a wet stripe across the cotton as Eames’ head fell back against the bed with a groan.


	21. Eames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My time to write is super limited right now, so I wanted to post this for those who've been so patient with me even though I haven't had a chance to really go through and edit it. So if there's any glaring errors, please let me know!

Eames

Eames’ face fell into his hands, his body heavy with fatigue. Too much was coursing through his head, emotions charging high and low, numbers and deadlines and the words “I wish there was more we could do” on infinite repeat. 

He tried not to be bitter as he slumped back against the sofa, fingers rubbing over the bridge of his nose. He had gotten ahead of himself, too excited at the prospects without considering the practical facts which could have, and now actually have, held him back. 

Eames’ phone blared tinny from the coffee table, and he looked down to see Arthur’s picture alerting his incoming call. He sighed, wondering if he should just let it go to voicemail, not wanting to admit the state of things to Arthur, especially after his grand offer a few days ago of getting Arthur out of Club Fisch. It was all just wounded pride though, and Eames knew Arthur wouldn’t judge him for this, never judged him for anything.

He huffed out a deep breath before finally picking up the phone, his thumb sliding over the screen to accept the call. “Hey,” he said. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good,” Arthur said, playful. “I think I finally got your laptop running again. Want me to bring it by the gym tomorrow?”

“Brilliant,” Eames said. “I’ve been going mental without it, you’re an absolute angel.”

Arthur snorted. “Well the angel demands you use the fucking malware protection software I installed after you download porn.”

Eames chuckled, unable to help himself as Arthur’s husky voice washed over him, already soothing his previously strumming heart rate. He braced himself before explaining what had happened to Arthur, nervous to make himself vulnerable in this way even though he’d welcomed it in turn from Arthur before. “I’ve got some news,” he said, chest tightening again as the words left his mouth. He sighed, adjusting the phone as he lay back against the couch, wanting to at least be comfortable before getting into it. “Frank wants to sell the gym.”

Arthur made a little aborted noise, likely unsure what to make of the declaration coming from Eames’ solemn tone. It took him a moment to reply, his words coming careful and slow. “He is? Wow...I mean I guess it shouldn’t be that shocking considering how sick he’s been. He’s home again, right?”

“Yeah,” Eames said, grimacing when he remembered how the old man had been wheezing while he tried to talk to him over the phone. “He’s still not doing that well but he’s comfortable. Browning hired a nurse so he’s being taken care of, but he knows he’s reached the end of the line with the gym. He called me earlier today to let me know; he sounded so gutted, Arthur-”

“I can imagine,” Arthur said, voice warm with genuine sympathy. “That place is like his baby.” He paused again before finally asking “So...what does that mean for you?”

“That’s the thing,” Eames said. “He offered to let me buy it.”

“Seriously?” Arthur asked, his voice pitching. “Frank wants to sell you his gym? Eames that’s...that’s incredible! Don’t you want it? You already did so much with the place, and there’s so much more you could-”

 

“It’s not going to happen,” Eames cut in, more bitter than he’d intended. He swallowed, closing his eyes before he went on. “It costs a hell of a lot more than I was expecting, even with the discount he’d give me.”

“Well how are we talking?” Arthur asked, trepidatious. 

“He said to a third party it would be forty grand, but he’d sell it to me for twenty five.” The words stuck in his throat as he said them, sounding just as insurmountable as they had earlier. 

“Jesus,” Arthur groaned out.

“Yeah,” Eames said. “He’s giving me a few days to see if I can get the money, but it’s just not going to happen. I have no credit history, my bank account is less than a year old.”

“Did you go to the bank then?” Arthur asked. 

“Yeah” he forced out, trying to forget the look on the Account Specialist’s face when she looked over his credit options, her gentle tone when she’d explained it would take years to build his credit enough to qualify for a loan of that size. “It’s just not an option for me, pet, I really fucking wish it were but….it’s not.” 

Eames felt his eyes heat, and he rubbed them hard to push back any wetness which might want to sneak past. He’d felt like a fucking loser sitting in that chair, trying not to betray how crushed he was as a banker who barely looked of legal drinking age kindly told him he was holding onto a pipe dream. He knew he could possibly stay after the gym sold, knew that even if he had to start over it wouldn’t be the same as the last time. He had work history now, a good reference, but Eames didn’t want to start over. The gym had given him a sense of purpose for the first time in his life, had made him feel like he was a part of something, accomplishing something. Selfish though it may be, he didn’t want to let that go.

“Eames, I-” Arthur stopped himself, and Eames felt worse to know Arthur was this taken aback. He really must be fucked. 

“I’m so sorry, do you think Frank would work with you? Let you pay him over time instead of in one lump?”

“He can’t love,” Eames said. “He needs the money now, his health is only going to get worse and he needs to get himself set up. Who knows, maybe someone will buy it and just want to own it, not do the work.”

“Fingers crossed,” Arthur said. “You ok? Want me to come over?”

“Don’t you work tonight?” Eames asked, the mental image of Arthur on the pole not actually helping matters. 

“Yeah, but I could come over until then,” Arthur offered. “Give you a cuddle...rub your back.”

Eames smiled weakly, wiping at his eyes with his heel of his hand. “Kind of you to offer, Arthur darling, but I think I’d rather be alone tonight. Tomorrow you can help me feel better, but tonight I think I’ll wallow in self pity.”

“Promise to call if you change your mind,” Arthur said.

Eames felt himself soften a little, the fond tenor of Arthur’s voice making it a bit easier to breathe. “I promise,” he said. “Call you tomorrow, ok?”

“Sure,” Arthur said, hanging up after a quick goodbye. 

Eames set the phone down with a loud groan, letting loose a deep breath as he lay back against the couch. He was drained, the emotions of the day finally getting the best of him until he could no longer bear to lie still. He turned on the TV, not caring what was on so long as it drowned out his own thoughts, and got three beers out of the fridge. He opened them all, leaving their caps scattered on the counter before returning to his couch. 

He flipped through a few channels, finally landing on one of the HGTV home renovation shows Arthur had gotten him hooked on, and wrapped himself in a big wooly throw blanket. After propping himself up with a few pillows, he was ready for an evening of mournful vegetation. 

Two beers in, his phone buzzed, the text message icon lighting up the screen. It was from Arthur, a slightly blurry up close picture of his lips pursed in a kissy face. The phone buzzed again with the message “don’t worry too much, I believe in you” appearing below. Eames couldn’t help the slow stupid grin that forced the corner of his mouth to curl, his thumb idly brushing over Arthur’s small contact photo. Odd that such a little thing which in no way actually altered his present situation could make him feel so much better, but it did nonetheless.

\------

Eames ended up crashing on the couch, his mouth dry as cotton and his neck tight when he woke up. The TV still on, early morning light pouring in through the curtains, the blanket mostly on the floor. He groaned when he saw the time, but was grateful that he had over an hour still to get ready before work. He needed a shower and a fuckton of coffee, and finally settled for stumbling to the bathroom. 

He almost squeezed out a dollop of shampoo until he realized it was Arthur’s and indulged himself in a little sniff before he put it back. After a vigorous tooth brushing and some eggs he felt better, a bit more human and ready to have to function. 

Despite the still smarting reality check about his inability to buy the place, work progressed like almost any other day. It wasn’t the same slow place he’s started at, there was regular traffic in and out, and between doing the check-ins and his usual cleaning routine, Eames didn’t have much time to dwell on things. He called Frank to check in, but the nurse answered and said he was sleeping. Eames called most days, so by now she’d grown comfortable updating him on Frank’s condition. No change, but he’d been resistant about using his cpap, which was hardly shocking. 

He had dues to log in, and new memberships to file, so the afternoon passed just as quick. Ryan actually showed at five, a veritable miracle, and Eames reminded him to actually turn out the lights when locking up for the night before taking his leave. He grabbed some dinner on the way home from a sandwich shop, downing one in the car on the way to his apartment and saving the other for later. The sandwich was tangy with mustard, and the chips it came with was just on the side of too salty, but both hit the spot. 

At home he cleaned, tidying the kitchen and finally working through the laundry which was heaped to overflowing in the hamper. He was just about to go get the vacuum when there was a knock at the door. 

It was Arthur. He was worrying his lower lip when Eames opened the door, hands stuffed deep in his pockets with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He was fidgety, which meant he had something on his mind, and when he saw Eames his brows rose in anticipation. “Hey,” he said. “Is this an ok time?”

Eames frowned, shaking his head as he stepped aside to let Arthur in. “No, I was just cleaning. Did you lose your key?” He bent on autopilot to press a small kiss to the corner of Arthur’s mouth, which Arthur returned with a small tilt of his head. 

“No,” Arthur confessed. “I just didn’t know if you were up for company.”

Eames snorted. “You’re hardly company,” he mused, giving Arthur’s firm little ass a pat. “I gave you the key so you could come whenever, even when I’m not home.” He pinched Arthur’s rump and then bent to give him a little peck on the cheek. “So what’s up? You want a drink?”

“Sure,” Arthur said before quickly changing his mind. “First, I...um...oh fuck it.” He reached into his bag with a huff and pulled out an envelope, practically thrusting it into Eames’ hand. 

Eames’ brows knit as he looked down at the envelope. “What-”

“Just open it,” Arthur said, brusque. 

Eames did, his heart practically stopping when he saw the check inside. “Arthur…” he said, staring at it, knowing his mouth was hanging open but unable to close it as he read and reread the amount again and again. “I can’t take this,” he said, because he couldn’t. No way could he stand there and just accept a check for twenty five thousand dollars.

“It wont bounce,” Arthur said, almost sounding defensive. “I went to my bank today and talked to the manager. I’ve been going there since I was 7, so he got me a great interest rate on the loan.”

Eames brows rounded, still feeling like all the wind had been kicked out of him. “You took out a loan?” he asked, his hands almost shaking. 

“Not for all of it,” Arthur insisted, taking a step closer with his hands shoved back in his pockets. “I actually had a good chunk in my savings, and like I said the interest rate is really good, it should only take you a few years to pay off-”

Eames shook his head, fingers clumsy as he pressed the check and the envelope against Arthur’s chest, insisting he take it. “Your savings? Arthur this is crazy, it’s so much fucking money, there’s no way I can’t take this-”

“Eames,” Arthur said, voice low and firm as he pulled his hands free from his pockets to gently cup them about Eames’ where it rested on his chest. “I want to do this, I want to give this to you.”

Eames’ breath was coming out harsh, and for one horrible moment he thought he was going to have an all out panic attack. He was shaking his head, mouth lax and eyes narrowed, unfocused. He’d never even considered asking for help, never once considered someone might want to help him, that Arthur would do something crazy like this. 

“Eames,” Arthur’s soft voice cut through, demanding his attention. He was much closer now, mouth hovering spare inches from Eames’ and the hand that wasn’t holding his to Arthur’s chest were now reaching to card gently past his temple through his hair. “Eames,” he said again, so fond and sweet it almost hurt to listen to. “I wasn’t just blowing smoke when I said I believe in you. You deserve this chance.” His eyes drifted shut as he brushed their lips together, their noses just barely touching. “Let me give this to you, please.”

Eames let out a shuddering breath, sniffing hard before wiping at his eyes with a thumb, the check still clutched in his fingers. “Just last week I offered to take care of you,” he said, voice laden with more feeling than he could sift through. 

“And I loved it,” Arthur said, kissing him lightly again, his arms reaching up to twine about the larger man’s neck. “And now I’m taking care of you. Will you let me?” He nipped at Eames’ lower lip, sharp teeth dragging over the soft flesh. Their hips brushed together, more due to closeness than actual intent, but Eames rocked into it, hissed as Arthur did it again. “Will you?”

Eames nodded, breath hot against Arthur’s mouth as he leaned in to kiss him. He dragged Arthur close, his arm tightening about his waist, and their teeth clicked as they opened their mouth wider, deepening the kiss. 

“No one’s ever taken care of me before,” Eames confessed into the hollow of Arthur’s throat when they finally separated. “I don’t...I don’t know how-”

Arthur shushed him, pulling the strap of his bag over his head so he could drop it to the floor. “I’m gonna take such good care of you,” he promised, hands clasping either side of Eames’ stubbled face to pull him close. 

Eames left the check on the table, letting Arthur undress him while backing him up towards the bedroom. By the time he flopped back onto the mattress he was naked and hard, his swollen prick curling up towards his belly. Arthur quickly peeled off his own clothes before kneeling on the bed between Eames’ legs. Eames eyes were hooded with want as he felt Arthur’s warm hands slide lightly up his legs to his thighs, guiding them wider so he could settle between them. 

Arthur pressed a hot open mouthed kiss to the inside of Eames’ hairy thigh, his tongue pressing light against the skin before he moved higher. He nipped at the soft flesh, looking up when Eames sucked in a breath and arched his back. “Does that feel good?” Arthur asked, rubbing gently over the pinking mark, easing away the ache and wetness there. 

Eames nodded, breathing hard as Arthur bit again higher up, a tingle shooting up to his cock. He reached above his head to grip the pillow as Arthur shuffled forward just enough to nose against Eames’ bollocks, then further still to lick a hot wet trail from the base to the tip of Eames’ cock. “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he moaned against Eames' flushed skin, the only warning before he stooped to guide Eames’ heated flesh into his mouth.

Eames arched again with a hoarse moan, eyes clenching shut as he just allowed himself to feel the wet heat of Arthur’s mouth, the deft swipe of his tongue as he pulled off to flick it along Eames’ frenulum. “Fuck Arthur,” he groaned, writhing from his skillful ministrations until Arthur had to grab his hips and hold them in place. He bobbed his head, his loose hair tickling Eames’ belly on each downstroke, one hand sneaking up to stroke across Eames’ chest, drag a nail over his nipple until Eames was panting and humping his hips up once more into Arthur’s willing mouth. 

Arthur pulled his mouth off, still pumping Eames’ length languidly as he looked up at him. His lips were swollen, shiny with spit and precum and Eames almost forgot to breathe as he watched him.

“Do you like this?” Arthur asked, voice low and practically purring. “Want to cum in my mouth?”

“Oh fuck, Arthur,” Eames whimpered, heart pounding in his chest. 

“Or-” Arthur slithered up the length of his body, thighs spread wide where he straddled Eames’ hips. He grabbed one of Eames’ hands, sucking two of his fingers into his mouth before guiding them back to the cleft of his ass. “Do you want to cum here?” he asked, urging Eames’ slick middle finger to rub over his hole. 

Eames’ lashes fluttered as he stroked the pad of his finger against Arthur’s rim, his cock twitching at the thought alone. “Here” he sighed into Arthur’s mouth, hauling Arthur closer while still teasing him with a finger. “Right here, darling.”

They made out for a while like this, Eames clutching Arthur’s ass as Arthur rocked their hips together, their cocks brushing against one another until both were so very close. Arthur finally separated them, keeping Eames in place with a hand to his chest as he leaned to the side and found the lube in the side table. He slicked the fingers of both hands, gently jerking Eames off while he reached back and prepped himself. Eames wanted to touch him, but he was sitting too straight, just out of reach, so Eames curled his fingers back into the pillow once more. 

When Arthur sank down onto him, Eames had to shut his eyes and will himself not to cum. He hissed as Arthur lowered himself down inch by agonizing inch, the slick tight grip almost too much on his sensitive flesh. Arthur’s mouth hung open in a gasp, his own eyes clenched shut, his hands braced on Eames’ chest as he took the last of it and was finally settled against Eames’ hips. When Eames looked again, Arthur’s belly was shuddering with his hitching breaths, his hands shaky as he leaned back and gripped Eames’ thighs for better leverage to raise himself up and down the length of Eames’ prick. 

It was all a sensory overload, feeling better than anything Eames could have ever imagined, better than he ever remembered sex feeling. They were both shaking from their own individual strains, Arthur to keep the rhythm and Eames to let him keep the pace and not thrust up. 

“That good?” Arthur asked, and Eames wasn’t sure he’d even be able to answer so he just nodded emphatically. “Or do you want more?”

Eames was so close, he could feel the orgasm building in his balls. “Want you closer,” he admitted, hands reaching forward to urge Arthur down. Arthur was only too happy to oblige, his hands gliding up and down Eames’ chest, nails scratching down his belly before he dipped down and flicked the tip of his tongue over one of Eames’ nipples. He rolled his hips, let Eames pull him up into a sloppy kiss as he rocked until Eames came, mouth open as he panted through his release. 

A few tugs to his own cock while Eames was softening inside him and Arthur came as well, forehead pressed to Eames’ check. Eames gathered him into his arms then, palm rubbing up and down his spine as they both regained their breath. “I don’t deserve you,” he said, reverent as he nosed against Arthur’s sweaty hair. 

Arthur sighed, going for put out but unable to shake the contentment from his fucked out voice. “And here I was,” he drawled, idly dragging the top of his foot against Eames’ furry calf. “Under the distinct impression you’d do the exact same thing for me.”

Eames chuckled, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s temple. “I will,” he promised softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm think this will take one more chapter to conclude, MAYBE 2, but we're coming to the end!


End file.
